Death and all of his Friends
by irishwoodkern
Summary: This is my first foray into fan fiction, inspired by the wonderful show Sleepy Hollow. I hope to make this a long, unfolding story arc, but who knows. It picks up roughly where I imagine season two begins, and is fairly canon-compliant up until 1x11 'The Vessel' and then it all goes haywire. Copyright belongs to Fox and Washington Irving.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

That night came back to her in bits and pieces, a montage of fractured images. What was the most clear to her was Crane's face, and the sense of unimaginable relief that washed over her when she finally understood that he wasn't going to sacrifice her to Moloch. There was another feeling there, one of stupid satisfaction.

_Of course he wouldn't do it – he's Crane. My Crane._

This realisation started off a cascade of other, stranger emotions that were hard to untangle. All she knew for sure was she was alive and safe, and so was he.

And so was she.

The moment she saw Katrina lying on the forest floor, safe and whole, Abbie felt something twist inside her. This was the moment Crane had long been waiting for, and Abbie could see the pure joy in his face as he went to her. Abbie experienced a stab of something ugly and bitter, and knew almost instantly that she was jealous. Guilt warred with her more selfish feelings, the ones that wanted to keep Crane all for herself.

Over the past year, they had grown close, closer than practically anyone else in her life. He was her confidante, as well as her partner and friend in the strange war in which they found themselves. Crane's desperate wish to reunite with his wife was a constant undertone in their relationship, but like white noise, she slowly became able to tune it out. It irked her to admit how reliant she had become upon his company, how she looked forward to seeing him every day.

As she looked at Crane holding his wife in his arms, caressing her and weeping with joy, she realised that something had fundamentally altered between them.

In the weeks since Katrina's return, it seemed as if everything had changed in the little world that they had created together. Without so much as a discussion, Katrina had been moved into Corbin's cabin to recover from her ordeal. Abbie couldn't help but feel a little bit slighted. It was foolish of course, as Crane had been living there the past few months. It wasn't as if the cabin belonged to her anyway. It was Corbin's, but he was dead. Now that Katrina had been released from purgatory, it made sense that she should share it with her husband.

Abbie sat in the archives, perusing old accounts of the Four Horsemen in Renaissance literature. It was Friday night – more like Saturday morning – and Abbie struggled to remember a time when she had felt so alone. She remembered those lost years after Jenny was first locked up, when the weight of her sins began to mount upon her. Despite Corbin's reassurances, it seemed as if the only way to escape all those terrible memories was to leave town. The FBI was a dream opportunity, but more than that, it was a lifeline when everything threatened to unravel all over again.

And then everything began – Corbin's death, followed by Crane's arrival into her life, bringing with him a partnership that she had never dreamed possible. If she was to be honest, it was what truly changed her life for the better. She had Jenny back in her life. And she had him. His company made the daily horrors that they faced that much easier. He alone could share the confusion and fear that came with being a "capital-W Witness". They had forged a unique bond of trust together, or so she had thought.

Crane belonged to Katrina now. While they would still work together, it was clear that their closeness, their complicity could no longer continue. Neither could the undeniable frisson that existed between them, occasionally expressing itself in subtle flirtation. That was all forbidden.

Her musings were interrupted by approaching footsteps in the corridor outside. She smiled as she recognised the unmistakeable sound of Crane's loping stride. Abbie was aware of her excitement and arranged her face in as placid a pose as she could muster. It was undignified to show how much she had missed him.

'Miss Mills?' Crane stood at the door, his face a beacon of light in the gloomy archives. In his hands were two cups of coffee. 'Working late, I see?'

Abbie merely smiled in response to his pleasantry.

'I found I couldn't sleep. I took a stroll and saw the light on here.' He gestured with one of the cups. 'I thought you might appreciate a restorative beverage.'

Abbie smiled in thanks as she reached for the cup. His formalities occasionally had the effect of distancing them, highlighting the man-made barriers of class, age and race that divided them in many ways. Still, there were times – such as now – when they charmed and consoled her. Crane, in all his outdated ways, was a fixed point in a crazy world.

They sat down and drank deeply in silence for a few moments, each afraid to say what they were thinking. It seemed as if he felt the breach between them as much as she did. Their easy confidence, which had begun in outright nosiness on Crane's part regarding her past, had been lost somehow.

The jolt of caffeine gave Abbie the confidence she needed to break the silence. 'You know,' she ventured. 'Now that you have Katrina back, there are other things you can do rather than wander the streets on sleepless nights.'

Crane heard her playful tone and saw the cheeky expression on her face. Abbie could have sworn she saw a blush creep across his cheeks. 'Believe it or not, Lieutenant, I am not in need of instruction on those matters. I did father a child, you know.'

Abbie was surprised at this oblique reference to Jeremy. Since Crane discovered his son's tragic fate, she had treated him with care, trying to avoid mentioning Jeremy's name in case the memories became too painful. It suddenly seemed that a cloud of tension had been dispelled.

'How are things at the cabin?' Abbie winced, hoping he would not think she meant anything salacious. Because truly, she did not want to know what was going on in that department. 'I mean, is Katrina settling in?'

Crane seemed to grimace. 'Katrina, unlike myself, did not sleep for two centuries. She had some awareness of the changes that time have wrought upon the world. She is dealing with her new situation a lot better than I did.' There was a pause that seemed significant.

'But?'

'I am finding her return to be more difficult than I anticipated. Living by oneself forges a queer sort of independence, especially when the bonds of wedlock have been so cruelly tested as ours have.'

Abbie nodded in understanding. She had been alone for a long time. Since her separation from Luke, she had become accustomed to living by herself. It was always difficult for her to let other people in. She could barely imagine what it was like to be so in love, so bound to another person as Crane was to Katrina. Being without her must have been hell, but she knew that people adapt to difficult circumstances surprisingly readily. 'You're just getting used to each other again. Soon, it'll be like you were never apart.'

'I hope so,' Crane mused. They sat for a few minutes, drinking their cooling coffees and basking in the warmth of each other's company. 'It seems an age since we last talked.'

Abbie felt a sudden rush of feeling towards him, but whether it was due to the renewed intimacy between them or something else, she was alarmingly unsure. 'Surely it can't be more than a week.'

'Feels like longer.'

Was it her imagination, or was there a tinge of sadness in his voice? Abbie felt moved to share something with him, the thing that had been preying on her mind since Katrina's rescue. 'You know things won't be the same from now on, right? I mean, for you and me. I mean, we'll work together like always, but you'll have to be there for Katrina now.'

An impenetrable expression crossed Crane's face, but in a flash, it was replaced by an equable smile. 'Of course, Lieutenant.'

All of a sudden, Abbie knew that things would be all right. Crane had Katrina, and she would survive on her own. She had done it in the past; it was just a matter of compartmentalizing her feelings. There was one thing she had to say though, one more confession before the spell was broken and the formalities resumed. 'Thank you, Crane.'

Crane looked at her in surprise. 'For what, Miss Mills?'

'For being you.' Abbie inhaled. 'I told myself again and again that Moloch was lying - that you would never betray me. But there was a time in the forest when I thought…' She paused, allowing the weight of the unspoken to fully penetrate his mind. 'Between me and Katrina, there's not much competition, is there?'

A shadow passed over Crane's face. He seemed caught between two impossible alternatives, struggling with conflicting emotions.

'I just wanted to let you know that I'm grateful for what you did. I know it must have been difficult.'

'Once I had made the resolution never you sacrifice you for any reason, the choice itself was deceptively easy.'

Abbie found her mouth had suddenly gone dry. She took a drink of the cold dregs in the bottom of her cup and was overcome with an undignified flurry of coughing. 'Too much… coffee,' she spluttered.

Crane eyed the clock. It was a little after two in the morning. 'Ah,' he said, rising from his chair. 'I fear I have tarried too long.' He bent his head in a respectful bow. 'My lady awaits. Goodnight, Miss Mills.'

'Goodnight, Crane.' Watching him walk away, Abbie felt a twinge of sadness. _Goodnight and goodbye_.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Abbie was unable to remove the smile from her face as she sat on the bleachers watching the local team getting trashed on a Sunday afternoon. She was in such a good mood that she hadn't given the umpire grief even once during the game. She was awash with a peculiar sense of contentment. A baseball game with a cup of coffee, the sun slanting through the trees, and Crane sitting ramrod straight beside her. She felt completely alive, completely at peace.

The last couple of months had been tough. In the midst of their gruelling daily efforts to forestall the Apocalypse, Crane was struggling to deal with Katrina's return into his life. A large part of that struggle was making room in a cabin that was resolutely not built for two. Crane turned in desperation to Abbie for advice, as Katrina was not in the right frame of mind to decide what was needed to make the place more homely. New curtains, rugs and bed linen were bought and Abbie even had the foresight to baby-proof the cabin – a safeguard against Katrina accidentally hurting herself.

Between them, Crane and Abbie decided to introduce Katrina to the modern world by gradual steps. Crane feared that the onslaught of electronic gadgets, motor cars and other strange devices might be too much for her to handle in her vulnerable state. Though she had seen something of modern life through her communications with the two Witnesses, getting used to living in the world again was proving a huge challenge. She found the noise of the town to be a constant irritant, and the manners of the locals to be "crude and excessively demonstrative". Even the sensation of air blowing on her skin seemed to bother her.

Nevertheless, she seemed to slowly settle into her new life with her husband. That was not to say that deep down, Abbie didn't find her neediness a little wearing. That was why she cherished this afternoon with Crane. It was her one chance to spend time with her partner outside of work. It was a little petty of her, she had to admit, not to mention contradictory. When Crane first arrived in her life, she found his inability to come to grips with the world to be amusing and annoying by turns.

The feminist in her bridled at his deference to outmoded rituals of chivalry – such as helping her on with her jacket or holding out a hand for her when they found themselves on uneven ground. It was a mark of the man that he was able to juggle such rigid behaviour with his ability to accept contemporary mores. His respect for her rank, as well as for her strength and independence never ceased to impress her.

She realised that almost unnoticed, Crane had become a fixture in her life that was essential to her very being. She could admit that now that Katrina had been returned to him. For a while, their lives had been entwined, and they only had each other to depend upon. Now she had to make room for someone else.

As they made their way back to her car, Abbie gently remarked: 'You looked pretty heated during the game, Crane. At one point, I thought you were about to challenge the ump to a duel.'

'This rebuke from you, Lieutenant?' he countered lightly. 'I'm frequently tempted to restrain you during these games. I never imagined such fire and indignation coming from such a diminutive person.'

Abbie knew when she was being provoked, but enjoyed their teasing banter too much to resist. 'Who are you calling diminutive, old man? I could take you.'

Crane stopped walking and regarded her thoughtfully. 'Are you challenging me to some manner of fight?'

Part of her wondered who would come out on top in hand-to-hand combat. He was tall and wiry, with no shortage of military experience. She, on the other hand was small and fast, and enjoyed kicking seven bells out of the bag in the gym. Her body reacted oddly to this thought; blood went rushing to her face and she felt her pulse quicken. The thought of scrapping with Crane filled her with a strange kind of ache. She had to admit it had been a long time since she had engaged with any kind of physical activity with a man. It was surely a natural consequence of being alone too long.

_But this is Crane… _

She arrested her musings before they took her in too confusing a direction.

'Are you scared?' Abbie shot back.

'Not in the slightest,' Crane smirked. 'I doubt your reach is sufficient to do me much damage.'

Abbie was tempted to launch a left-hook at his smug face, but in truth, she was having far too good a time. It was delicious to share a joke without him coming over all stilted and proper. Crane seemed somehow unleashed from his usual constraints. His reunion with Katrina had seemed to make him more at peace with himself, but there were times when Abbie caught a tinge of disillusionment in his manner. She repeatedly reassured him – to what effect she was unsure – that there was a readjustment period, and that things would soon return to normal.

Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a lone figure standing beneath the hanging branches of an oak tree. Katrina had been exploring the town for a few hours, part of her process of adjustment to modern life.

'Your wife's waiting for you,' Abbie said, trying to keep any trace of bitterness from her voice. As Crane turned to look, Abbie spotted something in his eyes that was akin to panic. She wondered what he was thinking at that moment.

'I see our outing has been cut short, Lieutenant. We shall have to defer our post-game debriefing for another time.'

They had planned to pick up some doughnuts and coffee and talk over the finer points of the game. Crane had become familiar with the rules of baseball since his arrival in the 21st century, to a point that he might consider himself a 'fan'. Abbie suspected that he enjoyed their discussions about modern life and society more than he let on. He would listen to her hold forth on any number of topics with a kind of rapt attention that she rarely saw in people nowadays. It was a refreshing change from her usual encounters with men who seemed more interested in her chest measurements than her opinions.

'I'll see you later, Crane.'

Crane bowed his head slightly. There was something slightly lost, slightly helpless in his demeanour. Before she could consider this more deeply, the moment had passed and he was gone. She watched as Katrina clasped Crane's arm and felt a stab of loneliness.

Banishing all such thoughts, she dug out her key fob and unlocked her car. Her phone demanded her attention. She saw that it was Jenny, and knew from instinct and experience that something was not right.

'Hey, Jenny. What's up?'

'Try not to freak out, ok? I'm at the police station.'

Abbie felt her heart drop. Already she was in damage control mode, ready to advise Jenny not to say a word until her lawyer arrived, but Jenny interrupted her thoughts.

'It's not what you think. I'm not under arrest - Irving called me in. I think you might be interested.'

'I'm coming,' Abbie replied, feeling the rest of her weekend slipping away.

'And Abbie? Bring British Guy with you.'


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Abbie could see a look of barely-concealed anger on Katrina's face as she caught up with her and Crane at the edge of the park. It was a fleeting moment, briefly there and then gone. Katrina greeted her with her usual manner of cool politeness, but her gaze was unflinching and impenetrable.

'Hello, Miss Mills.' Katrina's hand instinctively tightened on Crane's arm.

'Hi, Katrina, Crane – sorry to interrupt. We've been called to the station.'

Crane's eyes dilated immediately. Abbie recognised this as one of his characteristic tells – he was clearly intrigued.

'What is it, Lieutenant?'

'Don't know, but apparently it's up our alley. I hate to ruin your evening.'

Though Katrina was far too well-bred to complain, Abbie couldn't help but feel like an interloper between them. There was always a watchfulness about Katrina that made Abbie twitch with embarrassment.

'My love,' Katrina said in an undertone. 'If this is connected with our war against Moloch, don't you think I should come too? My powers could be of service.'

Abbie knew that something significant was occurring. Katrina was asking her husband to draw a line, to make a choice between herself and Abbie. It was excruciating to watch his discomfort.

'Why don't I wait in the car?' Abbie asked.

Crane nodded his thanks.

Abbie made her way back to the car, her cheeks burning. She was confused at why she felt so annoyed at Katrina; she was just protecting her territory after all. She tried to imagine what it must be like for the other woman – trapped in limbo for two centuries, only to return to an unfamiliar world to a husband who had formed a close bond with another woman. There was probably no precedent in Katrina's life for friendships between men and women. Besides, there was way she could understand what she and Crane had been through together. If circumstances were different, Abbie would have no problem with being Katrina's friend, but the constant look of suspicion and mistrust on the other woman's face irritated her.

A few minutes passed before Abbie heard Crane politely tapping on the window. He opened the back door and helped Katrina inside before wordlessly climbing in the back beside her.

Abbie sighed. Crane had made his choice.

'Lieutenant, would you mind stopping by the cabin before we go to the station?'

'Sure thing.' Abbie tried to hide her satisfaction as she started the engine. If nothing else, at least she wouldn't be forced to make awkward conversation with Katrina all night.

After dropping Katrina back at the cabin, Crane climbed into the passenger seat and sat in silence. Abbie sensed his discomfort.

'You okay?' She didn't want to intrude on his privacy, but she had to let him know that she was there for him.

'Thank you for your concern, Lieutenant, but I fear my thoughts are too disarrayed to share with you.'

'Fair enough.' Without another word, Abbie started the engine. They did not speak for the duration of the ride to the station.

On their arrival, Abbie and Crane were directed into an area behind of one the interrogation rooms. They found Captain Irving and Jenny standing behind the two-way mirror together. Abbie She sensed an unusual level of tension in the room and locked eyes with her sister, trying to discern what was going on.

'Lieutenant Mills. Crane. Thank you for coming on your day off.'

'No sweat, Captain.' Abbie glanced into the interrogation room and saw a bearded, middle-aged man sitting at the table in cuffs. He was dressed for concealment and warmth, with black boots, jeans and a Gore-tex jacket.

'Who's the guy?'

Irving nodded towards the glass. 'We brought him in last night with a female accomplice. They were caught breaking into the Museum of Ancient History. Check this out.'

He handed her a sheaf of documents, among them a pair of passports and standard tourist visas.

She examined them closely. 'Look pretty expertly forged,' she said, handing them to a fascinated Crane. 'You'd hardly be able to tell, but the hologram on the passport is a dead giveaway. Modern passports are biometric, with computer chips in them that make them incredibly hard to fake.'

'Ingenious,' Crane remarked. 'If that is the case, Captain, then how did they enter the country?'

'They seem to have taken a roundabout route by way of Cuba, Venezuela, up through Mexico and then chartered a private plane that smuggled them in. Originally, they claimed to be two newlyweds in the States on tourist visas from Ireland. Once their cover broke down, they stopped talking. Their fingerprints aren't on any American database, but we have Interpol looking for them. It could take a while.'

'You want me to talk to them,' Abbie said. 'Why?'

'Your sister claims to know them.'

Abbie turned to Jenny, who seemed uncharacteristically shy. 'You know them? I assume this is through not exactly legal channels?'

Slowly, Jenny nodded.

'Did you have something to do with the break-in?'

Jenny's eyes shot open wide. 'No!'

Abbie know in an instant that she was telling the truth. 'Talk.'

'That guy? I know him as Finbarr Doyle. The woman is Maeve Burke. She told me she was his wife, but I never saw a ring. I first met them in Egypt – we were all the acquisitions game together. They traded antiquities out of Baghdad, Kabul, Cairo. Anywhere there was a war or civil disturbance, they would be there, trying to make a little money amidst all the carnage.'

'Sounds horrendous,' Crane commended. 'We had such men in my era. General Washington took a very dim view on those who profited from robbing the dead.'

'They weren't just doing it for the money,' Jenny explained. 'They were searching for particular artefacts – like me. We'd consult together, trying to obtain certain items. Me for Corbin, them for… other reasons.'

'Other reasons?' Abbie was beginning to lose patience with this charade.

'One of the artefacts they were looking for was a funerary papyrus, rumoured to form a significant part of the ancient Book of the Dead. It's believed to contain spells used to contact the dead, to obtain unseen truths, even to predict the future.'

Abbie raised a quizzical eyebrow. 'That's what you think he was doing at the Museum, looking for an ancient papyrus to contact the dead?'

Bridling at her slightly incredulous tone, Jenny crossed her arms. 'I don't know. But people said things… things about his wife. Apparently she has these freaky powers.'

'Powers?' Crane's voice betrayed his alarm. 'Like a witch?'

Jenny shrugged. 'I don't know. Maybe.'

Captain Irving sighed. 'Great. Just great.'

Abbie turned to look at her boss. 'You think this is something to do with us? Horsemen, tribulations – all that stuff?'

'I don't know, but a witch showing up in Sleepy Hollow does not sit well with me. We have to charge them soon, so I want to know if they're friends or minions of Moloch.'

'Yes, sir.'

Abbie looked at Crane and nodded her head towards the door. He followed her out of the room.

'Look, Crane,' Abbie stopped in the hall to face him. 'I know things are a bit crazy right now – with Katrina and whatnot – but I need your A-game in there.'

Crane nodded stiffly. 'Your eccentric phraseology notwithstanding, I can assure you that I am ready to work.'

They entered the interrogation room. Abbie faced the man at the table, while Crane stood behind her in reserve.

'My name is Lieutenant Abbie Mills. This is my partner, Ichabod Crane. Mr. Doyle, is it?'

Doyle looked unimpressed. He sat back in his chair and folded his arms.

'Yeah, that's right. We know your real name, and we know what you're into. A little looting, trading in antiquities? We're not interested in that – what we want to know is what you're doing in Sleepy Hollow.' Abbie leaned across the table. 'What were you looking for in the museum?'

'Look, sweetheart,' Doyle sneered. 'I don't have to tell you anything.'

Crane stepped forward. 'Sir.' He pronounced the word with evident distaste. 'Lieutenant Mills is an officer of the law, as well as a lady. I suggest you address her as such.'

'Great, an Englishman.' He looked at Abbie again. 'Why don't you sling your hook, honey? And take Perfidious Albion with you.'

Abbie knew that the interrogation was, for all intents and purposes, over. She had grilled hundreds of suspects over the years and knew when one wasn't going to break, no matter how hard she leaned on him. Doyle wasn't afraid of being deported – he would just fly to another country and continue his criminal activity.

Out in the hallway, Abbie tried to plan her next move. 'I wanna talk to the woman – she seems to be the key in all this. That guy won't talk.'

'Aside from being thoroughly uncouth and rude to us both,' Crane huffed indignantly. 'Perfidious Albion indeed!'

'We need a plan, Crane. If this woman is a witch, we don't know what kind of power she might be packing.'

Her partner looked thoughtful. 'Perhaps Katrina's help might be required, after all.'

'Let's just be ready, is all I'm saying.'

They approached the second interrogation room with caution. Behind the door sat someone whose power was unknown to them. They had encountered witches before – both malevolent and good. Serilda of Abaddon was one of many dark witches in Sleepy Hollow who allied themselves with the forces of evil, but on the other side were Katrina's coven, whose motives were less than clear. They each wondered where this woman's allegiance lay.

Whatever they were expecting to find, they they unprepared for what they saw in the room. At the table, shackled at the wrists, sat a girl of no more than twenty. Her hair was dark and cropped stylishly short, but her face was thin and drawn.

Abbie had learned a lot from examining the faces of suspects in custody over the years. Women who came through the Sleepy Hollow Sheriff's Department were usually victims in one sense or another – victims of abuse, neglect, poverty, discrimination, or simply victims of men. She had fallen prey to one such man herself years before. When she looked into the eyes of this young woman, she did not see the wounded animal that she had been all those years ago, before Sheriff Corbin took her under his wing. There was a directness in the girl's gaze that unnerved Abbie.

'Maeve, is it? I'm Lieutenant Abbie Mills. This is Ichabod Crane.'

The girl examined her bitten fingernails in response.

'You're likely to be charged with breaking and entering, in addition to entering the country using false documents.' Abbie sat down opposite the girl – a gesture inviting trust. 'I know you're not afraid of deportation – you're a gypsy. You can live anywhere, right?'

There was a twinge of surprise in Maeve's face. Abbie saw in that moment that the girl's pinched expression concealed a face that was delicately pretty, but in her eyes there was a combination of wariness and exhaustion.

'I don't care about the charges. What I want to know is what you were looking for and why.' She paused, meaningfully. 'You're a witch, right? You were looking for some kind of magical artefact.'

Maeve burst out laughing, long and loud. Eventually she caught her breath, wiping the tears from her eyes. 'I'm sorry. You had me going there for a moment. Are you sure you're a cop?'

Abbie felt the walls go up once more. She could have kicked herself for playing her hand too soon.

Crane stepped towards the table and placed his slender hands upon it. 'We know all about you and your husband. The operations you ran in Cairo, Baghdad, Kabul. Some people would call that war profiteering.'

'We had good teachers,' Maeve replied. 'Lots of Americans over there – lots of Brits too. They were past masters.'

'But you weren't in it for the money, were you?' Crane persisted. 'Not truly. You were looking for artefacts – occult items. Things with magical powers.'

The surprised look was back again, and with it something akin to fear. 'You know then,' she whispered.

'About what?'

'About the demons,' Maeve said hesitantly.

Abbie felt the triumph that came with getting a suspect to break, but she could not revel in satisfaction for long, not when there was so much more to hear. 'We know about Moloch,' she said. 'We know about the Horsemen and the End of Days.'

'Yes.' The girl's eyes shone with wonder.

'And you're a witch.'

'No, not a witch. I'm a seer.'

Abbie blinked. 'A what?'

'A seer,' Crane repeated. 'Like a shaman. You use hexed objects to see beyond this mortal realm.'

'Yes. Beyond this world, beyond death, sometimes even… the future. I am one of a long line of practitioners of this ancient art.'

The girl wet her lips before speaking again.

'We're called druids.'


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

'Mills, Crane, get in here.'

Crane followed Abbie into the office and waited until Irving had closed the door and turned to face them. Every mannerism underlined his frustration and annoyance.

'A druid? Tell me you're kidding.'

'We are in earnest, I assure you,' Crane replied in his customarily clipped tones. 'She truly is a druid, or believes herself to be.'

Crane felt animated. Since their interrogation of the girl, it seemed that he had sprung to life. The boredom and agitation that had settled on him in the last few weeks suddenly lifted and it felt as if a fire had been kindled within him.

'Great.' Irving leaned against his desk, his arms folded. 'Has it occurred to either of you that she's playing you? Maybe preparing an insanity defence?'

'Due respect, sir,' Abbie said lightly. 'But that's what you said about Crane once.'

'The lady's looks bore truth,' Crane insisted. 'And besides, given our experience, it's hard to mistake a sign when it manifests itself.'

Irving glanced up towards the ceiling in consternation, as if wondering what terrible sin he committed in another life to get stuck with Ichabod Crane. He turned to Abbie – surely the saner of the two – to shed some light on what was going on.

'Mills, help me out here, would you?'

'She spoke about Moloch,' Abbie added. 'Said he was planning something big – launching an attack on Sleepy Hollow. Soon.'

'Could she have been more specific?' Irving raised an eyebrow.

'Unfortunately not,' she replied. 'This was what they were looking for in the museum.' She handed him a printed photograph of a nondescript pottery jug, sparsely decorated with hieroglyphs and geometric patterns. It seemed an ordinary thing – nothing like the ornate, jewelled treasures from Tutankhamen's tomb and the Valley of the Kings.

'It's a magical item,' Crane explained. 'Used to transmit the will of a witch to an earthly target. According to the museum's information – much of which derives from dubious translations – the vessel belonged to an Egyptian high priestess called Ineni. She was a soothsayer and a worshipper of the god Amun, persecuted by the pharaoh Akhenaten for refusing to follow the official religion. She held to her beliefs despite arrest and torture, and was eventually put to death by drowning in the Nile.'

Irving gave a heavy high. 'That's all very edifying, but it scarcely answers my question.'

Crane looked affronted, but before he could respond, Abbie continued the tale. 'Before her death, Ineni placed a curse on this jug. She had one of her followers bury it with her body, pledging that Akhenaten's line would fail. And apparently it did. His son Tutankhamen followed him as pharaoh, but died young, as we all know. All of his children predeceased him, so Ineni's curse came true. Akhenaten's line did die with him.'

Crane's voice overlapped with hers, so excited was he to impart what he knew to Irving. 'Miss Burke says that she can use the artefact to channel the power of Ineni's hex. That way she can gain insight into Moloch's plans.'

Irving held up a hand. 'Can I ask an obvious question?'

Abbie and Crane gazed blankly at him.

'Who are these people? I mean, when they're not traveling the globe impersonating Lara Croft, that is.'

Crane took a moment to absorb the meaning behind Irving's unfamiliar reference. 'They are criminals, Captain, but I do believe that they are on our side in this war. Mr. Doyle – Miss Burke's glowering paramour – is what might be termed a 'demon-hunter'. They travel around the world seeking arcane knowledge about demons in order to combat evil.'

Irving looked searchingly at Abbie. 'You buying this?'

Abbie shrugged one shoulder. 'It's among the crazier alibis I've heard. If it is true, it could give us the jump on whatever Moloch's planning.'

'What exactly do you have in mind?'

'How much longer can you keep them in custody without charging them or releasing them?' Abbie enquired.

'I've applied to extend their holding period for another twelve hours. It's a tricky proposition, given that it's a relatively minor charge. We need to decide what to do with them, and quickly.'

'I say we let the girl do her thing. Use her mystical witchy-woo powers to see into Moloch's mind.'

'How? Irving was incredulous. 'You're suggesting we confiscate an ancient Egyptian artefact? Do you have any idea the kind of legislative hoops I'd have to jump through…'

'I'm not suggesting we break it out. I'm suggesting we break her in.'

Irving looked from Abbie's face over to Crane's and back again. Heaving a world-weary sigh, he picked up the receiver and punched a series of numbers into the phone. 'This is Captain Irving. I want the suspects in my office, right away.'

Crane stood with his hands clutched behind his back. As they waited for the couple to be brought inside, he took the opportunity of glancing at his partner. She had her arms folded, one hand tucked beneath her chin. His eye followed the curve of her wrist over her jawline and rested on her perfect cheek. He examined the serenity of her expression and wondered, not for the first time, what secrets it concealed.

She was quite lovely, he pondered, again, not for the first time. He told himself that there was nothing lascivious in his thoughts. It was merely an academic observation. He had become disturbingly conscious of all the times he found himself simply gazing at Lieutenant Mills, immersing himself in her beauty.

Crane jolted back to reality, realising the gross impropriety of his thoughts. He could not deny that circumstances had irrevocably altered since Katrina's return. His loyalty was to his wife, not to the inscrutable, courageous, frustrating woman with whom he was partnered by fate. However blameless his intentions, he could no longer indulge himself in admiring his partner.

The door swung open and Detective Morales entered, clutching the arm of Finbarr Doyle. Behind him, his partner Detective Jones led Maeve Burke, her hands cuffed in front of her.

'Luke, Devon, would you mind waiting outside for a few minutes? I'll call if I need you.'

Crane couldn't help noticing the subtle look that passed between Morales and Abbie. There was something familiar in that glance that made Crane feel excluded. The detective had taken against him from their first meeting, treating him with distain and suspicion. Crane recognised all the hallmarks of an ex-lover; the hostility in his demeanour suggested that he considered Crane to be a rival for Abbie's affections. As mistaken as his suspicions were, there was a feeling of unfinished business between Morales and Abbie that was oddly discomfiting.

When the two detectives had left the room, Irving regarded the handcuffed suspects with barely-concealed contempt. 'Look, I don't know who you really are, and honestly, I couldn't care less. I'd be very happy to put you on a plane back to Ireland, but there's a chance that we could help each other out. You have exactly no time to make up your minds.'

Doyle shared a look with his wife before turning to the Captain. 'Help each other how?'

'Just to save time, I'm gonna drop the pretence that there's no such thing as demons. We know you're looking for information on Moloch. So are we. Lieutenant Mills and Captain Crane here have personal beef with him. I know he's sending his minions to attack Sleepy Hollow – we don't know where or when. Your wife knows how to get that information.'

Doyle regarded Irving unflinchingly. 'What do we get in return?'

'I have the ear of the attorney general. In return for your cooperation, I may be able to reduce the charges against you to trespassing. You won't be deported – you probably won't even serve jail time.'

There was a long moment of silence. Crane considered them both. He wondered at the strange dynamic between the gruff middle-aged man and the slightly strange younger woman. He had to remind himself that he was a Revolutionary-era soldier in the 21st century, married to a witch whom he had recently liberated from Purgatory. The ways of love were strange indeed.

Finally, Maeve spoke. 'I think we should do it, Barry. I want to help stop Moloch, once and for all.'

Doyle made a terse nod in agreement.

'Fine,' Irving said. 'Miss Burke will accompany us to the museum. Mr. Doyle, you're staying here.'

Maeve looked at her husband in some alarm. 'Barry, I don't like this. We always work together.' She seemed genuinely distressed.

Abbie tried to comfort her. 'You have to understand, this is how we do things. It's best that Mr. Doyle stays here while there's still some… concern over the truth of your claims.'

'You don't trust us?' Doyle scoffed. 'You work with a man who dresses like a pirate!'

Crane drew himself up to his full height, bristling with indignation.

_A pirate?_

He wanted to educate this blackguard on the distinguished history of his costume and all that it represented to him. One look at Abbie stopped him in his tracks. Her expression radiated an implicit warning. He was acquainted with her enough to know that she was not to be trifled with.

'It's either this or deportation,' Irving demanded. 'What's it going to be?'

'Barry…' Maeve seemed unsure, but there was something in her tone that suggested a quiet determination.

Doyle seemed to be wrestling internally with this dilemma. He sighed. 'What the hell. We've been fighting this son of a bitch for long enough. If Maeve helping youse lot evens out the odds, then we're in.'

He suddenly turned and jabbed a finger in Crane's direction.

'But I'm not trusting that limey git anywhere near my wife. If she's going to the museum, he's staying here where I can keep an eye on him. That's the deal.'

Crane realised in that moment that he had unwittingly made an enemy.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Jenny took a moment to absorb the full weight of what she was doing. She had only been released from the nuthouse a few months before, but now here she was, indulging in criminal activity once again. In all honesty, she was happy to leave Abbie and Crane behind at the station. She was not oblivious to the weird, unspoken tension that floated like a cloud above their heads whenever they entered a room. She and Abbie were not the type of sisters that shared secrets or confidences, but it was clear to Jenny that her big sister had it pretty bad for the time-travelling revolutionary.

It was obvious from her first encounters with Ichabod Crane that he shared a special bond with her older sister. She admired the way he treated Abbie with respect, deferring to her opinion but at the same time, not afraid to go toe-to-toe with her when necessary. It was only after many months that she began to suspect that there was something deeper between them.

It was subliminal and utterly unacknowledged of course. After all, Crane was a married man, despite the fact that his wife was trapped in some otherworldly realm. Since Katrina's return to the land of the living, Jenny sensed that the delicate balance between the two Witnesses had shifted. More than anyone else, Jenny knew that despite her tough exterior, Abbie was surprisingly sensitive and vulnerable to emotional hurts. She was leery of romantic entanglements and shy of making friends, particularly since Corbin's death. Her recent estrangement from Crane had hit her hard. Jenny was not unsympathetic, but if she had to spend time listen to them being painfully polite to one other another, she would go mad.

When Irving suggested they team up to investigate the Egyptian artefact, she jumped at the chance. It had nothing to do with the slight flurry of excitement in her stomach at the thought of working with him again. Unlike her sister, she had no problem admitting when she was attracted to a man. That was just physical stuff. Anyway, the fact that Irving had returned to his wife and kid made her feelings moot. She filed them away in her mind under the heading 'what might have been.' No harm, no foul.

Irving was here mainly as a gun hand, and to keep an eye on Maeve. Although Jenny had worked alongside the strange girl and her hulking fossil of a husband a few times in the past, she was under no allusions about either one of them. The old cliché about there being honour among thieves only went so far. There were always conflicting agendas at play; Jenny usually found 'trust nobody' to be a sounder policy.

They approached the white columns of the impressive 19th century building with caution. When Irving had asked how they planned to break a priceless historical artefact out of a heavily-guarded museum, she had laughed out loud.

'You're a cop, Irving. All you have to do is get us in. We'll do the rest.'

Although Abbie wanted to use some kind of rudimentary disguise to hide Maeve's appearance, Jenny knew it would not be necessary. She had survived long enough by learning to be inconspicuous, and that was simple enough when you were a nobody to begin with. The little she knew about Maeve suggested that they were two of a kind – both products of unhappy homes, both scrambling for survival in an uncaring world.

'Let me do the talking,' Irving muttered as he pushed open the glass door. Jenny approached the security desk with a swagger that she had cultivated over the years when dealing with authority figures. It was important to look like you were supposed to be there, even when you weren't.

Irving flashed his badge at the uniformed security man. 'Sleepy Hollow Sheriff's Department.'

'Can I help you, sir?' The portly guard had the air of a man who liked the feel of being in charge, but who withered when encountering real authority. Typical schoolyard bully material.

Irving nodded towards Jenny who stood slightly behind him. Maeve remained apart. 'This is Professor Selena Bartlett and her assistant. We need private access to one of your exhibits. We're investigating a series of forgeries in museums across New York State. We're here to examine the artefact known as Ineni's Vessel.'

'Oh.' The security guard looked flustered. 'Okay. I should…'

'Feel free to call your supervisor,' Irving suggested.

The guard looked at him with a truculent air. 'I'm in charge tonight. I can take you there myself.' He picked up his walkie-talkie. 'Georgia, can you take over the desk for me for a bit? There's something I need to take care of.'

Sounds of muffled assent came from the walkie-talkie. The guard turned to Irving. 'I'll take you down there in just a second. You'll have all the access you want. We're happy to co-operate with the police.'

They were led down a series of passages towards a door marked 'Private – Staff Only'. The guard swiped a card through the lock and held the door open for them. The room was dark and maintained at a climate-controlled temperature in order to protect the exhibits.

'Ineni's Vessel isn't on display. We have it in storage because it's a delicate piece.' He guided them alongside high shelves stacked with items packed in wooden boxes. 'Here it is.'

He pulled out the correct crate and carefully carried it to a nearby workbench. 'Is the light okay?'

Jenny made a big show of examining the muted fluorescents overhead. 'It's not perfect, but I guess this will work.'

Irving shot her a look of warning before turning to the guard. 'Would you mind watching the door for us? This might take a while. Isn't that right, Professor Bartlett?'

Jenny took heed of the irritated tone in his voice and wondered if her flurry of bravado had blown the whole op. 'Thank you so much for your help…' She peered at his name badge. 'Thomas. We'll try not to be long.'

He smiled shyly and handed her a box of disposable gloves. 'You have to wear these when handling the artefact, ok? It's my ass on the line.'

She gave him a look of reassurance, the kind she had cultivated through years of handling orderlies at Tarrytown Psychiatric. As soon as she was gone, she prised the lid off the box and looked inside. 'Doesn't look like much to me.'

Maeve spoke for the first time. 'That's because you're only looking with your eyes.' She took hold of the jug and placed it on the counter with bare hands.

'Hey, you're not supposed to…' Jenny stopped herself. Since when was she the sensible one, the one who obeyed authority? She had clearly been spending too much time around Abbie.

'I need quiet for this,' Maeve said softly. 'And absolute stillness.' Her voice had taken on a sense of self-assurance that Jenny had not heard before. Maeve placed her hands on the sides of the vessel and closed her eyes. She seemed to radiate an aura of calm and peace that enveloped all three of them. Even Irving appeared transfixed in the moment.

Maeve began to speak a language that was unfamiliar to either of them – something archaic with a lyrical quality that was almost hypnotic. The same words were repeated over and over again, sinking Maeve deeper into a trancelike state.

Jenny glanced over at Irving and saw him mirror her expression of unease. Something was happening – something strange and unaccountable. The sound of the girl's voice was almost frightening in its intensity. She opened her eyes and Jenny let out a gasp.

Maeve's eyes were a milky white; burning through Jenny as they gazed off into the distance. A look of fear clouded her face, and then her face registered pain. With a groan she released her grip on the vessel and collapsed to the floor.

Jenny went to her. Her face was pale and covered with a fine sheen of sweat.

'Hey, you okay?' She shook her by the shoulder.

'I saw…' Maeve swallowed. She seemed exhausted, almost incapable of speech.

Irving knelt down beside her. 'What did you see?'

'Moloch!' she uttered fearfully. 'I saw into his mind. He's sending another of his henchmen – the Horseman of Conquest.' She took several deep breaths. 'On the first full moon after the Vernal Equinox, Pestilence will come for the first Witness.'

Jenny looked at Irving in shock. 'Crane…'

'If Ichabod Crane dies, all will be lost. Moloch wants his soul, and he is coming for it.'


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Abbie sighed and stretched her hands up over her head, rolling her head around until she heard her neck crack. She had been at the station for hours, finishing paperwork with such precision and detail that the Captain would surely think she was cracking wise. Truth was she was stalling. She had planned to bring a box of groceries to Corbin's cabin, but the idea made her so nervous that she felt physically sick.

As soon as the details of Maeve's vision were repeated to him, Crane retreated to the cabin. He seemed horrified – unable to fully process what he had learned, much less share what he was feeling with his fellow Witness. She had tried calling him dozens of times, sending him innumerable texts and voice messages.

Eventually, she received a call from Katrina of all people. Katrina – who at first had reacted with bewilderment and fear when she saw her husband using the device, who still winced whenever she heard a car accelerate nearby. As soon as Abbie recovered from the shock of hearing Katrina's voice, she was filled with a sense of deep discomfort and awkwardness.

'Miss Mills, I have been charged by my husband with contacting you. Ichabod has elected to remain here at the cabin until the full moon passes. That way, if he should fall ill, he will not endanger any of the townsfolk.'

Abbie tried to persuade Katrina of the folly of such behaviour – Crane needed to be in a medical facility under the supervision of doctors. Nothing she said made any difference. The worst part was that Crane would not speak to her. She wasn't sure what she would say to him in any case. She desperately wanted to impart something comforting, to tell him that they would defeat Conquest as they had once before. In all honesty, she had no idea where to begin.

As promised, in return for their cooperation with the Sheriff's Department, the charges against Finbarr Doyle and Maeve Burke were reduced to trespassing, a misdemeanour offence. They were released after signing a bond but immediately skipped town, presumably to continue their demon-hunting and grave-robbing ways in the four corners of the world. Irving was livid, but the inner rebel in Abbie would have wished them well – if only it wasn't for Crane.

Truth was she was scared. She was fucking terrified.

The worst part was how useless she felt, unable to help her partner, even to talk to him and try and allay his fears. In normal circumstances, Crane would be in the archives with her, poring over documents in search of some arcane piece of information that would help them defeat whatever evil they were facing.

But this time, it seemed like he had given up.

'Abbie?' Luke approached her tentatively, as if knowing that she was inches from cracking. 'Abbie, you're crying.'

Abbie touched her face and found that tears were indeed spilling down her cheeks. 'Oh, damn.' She scrambled for a tissue.

'Here.' Luke pulled a perfectly starched handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her.

Abbie laughed to herself. _Good old Luke – always prepared._

Luke perched on the edge of her desk. 'You don't have to talk about it.'

'Thanks.' Abbie felt herself growing calmer in his presence. Luke was always a good friend to her, even before they were lovers.

'Look, Abs. I know I wasn't very supportive when you told me you were going to Quantico. And I know I wasn't very welcoming of Crane at the beginning. I just want you to know that I'm here if you need me.'

Abbie smiled gratefully. 'Thanks, Luke. Things have been pretty crazy lately, for all of us. Just be patient with me.' She folded the handkerchief and held it out to Luke.

'You wiped your nose on that – you can keep it.'

'You jerk.' Abbie grinned, pulling on her jacket. 'I have to go. Talk later?'

She felt a little more cheerful as she exited the station and climbed into her car. Maybe things weren't as bad as she thought. Even if Maeve's vision was real, there was no reason to believe that it would come true. Moloch's mind was twisted and Machiavellian; he played with information like a great tactician. Everything he revealed was part of a larger plot – perhaps he had shown to Maeve only what he wanted her to see. Moloch had a way of messing with their heads.

As she pulled up to the cabin, Abbie felt a slight chill creep over her. There was another week until the full moon. She couldn't help but feel fearful at the prospect of the approaching deadline. She retrieved the box of provisions from the trunk, preparing to show nothing of her inner turmoil.

She knocked on the door and waited with anxious anticipation, all the while striving to look cool. Crane didn't need her panic on top of his own; he needed reassurance and calm.

The look on Katrina's face almost shattered her composure the moment the door opened. The other woman looked grave; there were dark circles under her eyes that spoke of sleepless nights and worry. Abbie could also discern a sheen of sweat above her upper lip.

'Katrina, are you okay?'

'Miss Mills – how kind of you to come.' She saw the box of groceries in Abbie's arms.

'I brought some supplies, in case your husband is still determined to fort up here.' She kept her tone light, but there was an undercurrent of tension and unease in her voice that Katrina could not miss.

'I thank you, Abbie.'

The grateful look on Katrina's face twisted Abbie's heart. She felt a weight of guilt at having harboured such negative feelings about the other woman for so long.

Katrina took the box from her and placed it inside the door. 'I wish I could invite you in, but Ichabod has insisted that we establish a makeshift quarantine. I have placed protective hexes around the perimeters of the cabin, in the hopes that they will ward off any evil that might approach. Other than that, I don't know what I may do…'

She let out a shuddering sigh.

'Katrina, are you okay?'

Before she could reply, Crane appeared from the bedroom in shirtsleeves. The moment he saw Abbie he looked surprised, but his features quickly darkened. He retrieved his coat from the bedroom and pulled it on.

'Miss Mills, I thought my communications through Katrina were sufficient to impart my wishes.'

Suddenly, Abbie felt furious. 'Screw your wishes. You've been ignoring my calls for a week – shutting me out. Are we partners or aren't we?'

Katrina looked deeply uncomfortable at being in the middle of their argument. 'Excuse me.' She retreated inside, picking up a pile of folded laundry and carrying it into the bedroom.

Abbie felt hugely grateful for Katrina's sense of tact. Despite standing awkwardly at the threshold, she continued to glare at Crane, who stared unflinchingly back at her.

'Lieutenant, I apologise for my failure to respond to your _many_ communications, but I hope you will understand why. If Miss Burke's vision holds true, and I am to fall victim to some apocalyptic ailment, then I cannot risk the population by venturing past these walls.'

'What I understand is that you shut me out. If we're gonna work together, you have to talk to me. I don't care if Katrina doesn't like me.'

Crane's eyebrows almost disappeared into his hairline. He glanced over at the bedroom door, as if afraid that Katrina was listening. 'This has nothing to do with her.' His tone was confident, but his face bore a guilty expression, as if Abbie had hit unwittingly on a truth that he dared not admit. 'I knew that you would try to change my mind, or worse still, have me sent back to that infernal hospital. I've experienced enough of twenty-first century quarantine procedures for one lifetime, thank you.'

'What am I supposed to do?' Abbie asked defiantly. 'Wait around until you get sick? And what if you don't get sick – are you gonna let Moloch jerk you around like a puppet on a string until End Times?'

Abbie knew she had hit a nerve. Crane's hands clenched and unclenched several times, as if he could barely contain himself with fury. His eyes shone an intense shade of blue.

'What would you have me do, Lieutenant?' he asked, dangerously quiet. 'Run around Sleepy Hollow whilst knowing that I could be spreading the next plague? Like Thomas from Roanoake, carrying a disease to which the modern populace has no immunity? Imagine the consequences, Abbie!'

He looked so stricken that Abbie felt bad for him. Her voice was gentler this time. 'Look, if that were true, you would have already passed it on to someone – to me. We spend virtually every waking minute together – or used to.' She tried to keep with bitterness out of her voice, but nevertheless saw Crane flinch slightly at those last words. 'I'm not sick, and neither are you, for all we know. This could be Moloch messing with us - trying to distract us from our mission. If you're really worried, let me call somebody to check you out. I know a really nice lady – she's been my doctor for years. Even does house calls.'

'A lady physician?' Crane uttered doubtfully.

'Yes, Crane. It's a whole new day in America.'

He smiled at the memory of those words, spoken to him by Abbie the second time they met.

'You trust me?'

'Implicitly, Lieutenant,' he replied without hesitation. He paused, thinking deeply. Then, just as he was inclining his head in assent, a loud cry came from the bedroom, followed by the sound of a body hitting the floor.

'Katrina!' Crane flung open the door to find his wife lying prostrate. He gathered her in his arms, terror etched into his face.

'Crane!' Abbie stepped forward.

'Stay back – do not cross the threshold!' Crane held up a hand in desperation, as if to arrest her movement from across the cabin. 'For the love of God, Abbie, stay away!'

In that moment, Abbie understood. The reason he had been out of contact all week, why he didn't want her anywhere near the cabin – it was as plain as day. The look of fear on his face told her everything. It wasn't the population of Sleepy Hollow he was concerned about.

He was frightened _for her._

She pushed those thoughts away; the priority now was saving Katrina's life. She whipped out her phone and pressed the number for Dr. Gibbons. Abbie almost swooned with relief when she answered after the first ring.

'Judy? This is Abbie Mills – we have a situation up at Trout Lake. I don't have time to explain, but I need your cooperation and your discretion. Can you give me that?'

There was a brief silence as the older woman processed what Abbie had just said.

'I can be there in twenty minutes.'


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Abbie sat on the swing set outside Corbin's cabin, gazing up at the darkening sky. Through the trees, the treacherous moon shone brightly, its full orb glimmering with an icy pallor. Tonight was the night that would end it, one way or another. In the silence that enfolded her, she tensed, as if listening for the sound of approaching hooves.

She tried to cast her mind back to the time before she met Crane, before she became a Witness and all the plans she had for her life got blown to the four winds. With hindsight, everything seemed so much simpler then; the darkness and confusion of her childhood lay firmly behind her. All that lay ahead was latent possibility, clear and bright like cosmic dust waiting to form a star.

Now everything was a confused; her fate was entwined with another, bound together by prophecy to fulfil a predetermined role. She felt as out of control as she had when she was little - a child struggling with the shackles of a broken home and a damaged sister. She was a grown woman now, capable and strong, but inside she felt impotent and lost, terrified that her only ally – the person on whom she had come to rely so completely – was close to death.

Jenny emerged from the cabin and shivered in the chill evening air. Her exhaled breath formed plumes above her head. She sat down on the swing set beside Abbie.

'How are you doing?'

'I'm fine,' she replied too quickly. 'Any improvement?' It was a reflex now – Abbie already knew the answer, even before Jenny had begun to shake her head.

'I think it's gonna get worse before it gets better.'

She recalled with perfect clarity the day she had called Dr. Gibbons out to the cabin. Fear and panic had already begun to set in, sending her into a tailspin. It took every ounce of restraint not to rush to Crane's side, but she knew she had to respect his wishes by remaining outdoors. After what seemed like hours, Dr. Gibbons emerged to find Abbie pacing back and forth on the porch. Questions crowded her mind, emerging in shaking breaths.

'Do you know what's wrong with them? Are they gonna be okay?'

'From my preliminary exam, it would seem to be nothing more than a seasonal flu virus. I'm concerned at the rapid onset of symptoms. Katrina is stable at present, but Mr. Crane is spiking a high-grade fever.'

Abbie felt a relieved breath before her eyes widened in horrified realisation. Crane and Katrina had 18th century immune systems. They had probably never encountered the modern flu virus, much less developed a defence mechanism against it. Abbie was struck dumb with fear. Maeve's vision was true then – Pestilence had come for Ichabod Crane.

Dr. Gibbons looked thoughtful. 'I assume from their speech and mode of dress that they come from a religious community, like Mennonites or the Amish. Have they had inoculations?'

Shamefaced, Abbie shook her head. She cursed herself for failing to take better care of Crane. What kind of partner was she? Teaching him about baseball and Smartphones was fine, but what was the point when he was susceptible to all sorts of modern ailments?

Jenny shifted nervously, interrupting her thoughts. It was clear that she was gearing up to say something important. 'I have an idea how much Crane means to you, Abbie,' she said slowly, carefully choosing her words. 'Don't think for a second that we're not working our asses off to keep him alive.'

_For you_, she added silently. For all that was unspoken and repressed about the connection between Crane and her sister, one thing was painfully obvious to her. Abbie needed Crane, for no other reason than that he was her closest friend, her rock, her partner in the madness that had enveloped her life over the past year. For Abbie's sake alone, she had fought tooth and nail to keep Crane from dying.

'I know,' Abbie replied listlessly.

The cabin door opened and Dr. Gibbons emerged, exhaustion etched onto her small, bird-like face. Abbie stood up to meet her.

'I need to get more supplies from my office. Jenny, would you mind giving me a hand? It's going to be a long night.'

Jenny nodded assent and placed a reassuring hand on Abbie's back as she walked towards her car. Dr. Gibbons looked seriously at Abbie for a moment.

'I'll need you to keep a careful watch on them. You know the drill – keep them cool, keep them hydrated. And whatever you do…'

'Wear a mask and gloves,' Abbie completed the familiar litany. Over the past week, she had lost count of the number of times she had been in and out of the cabin, taking care of Crane and his wife. Following Dr. Gibbon's instructions, she had been scrupulous about safety, more concerned about their health than her own. Crane was shocked when he saw her wearing the mask for the first time, but she explained in vague terms about germ theory and the transmission of viruses. She laughed when she realised that her knowledge went no further than high school biology, promising to buy him a book as soon as he got well.

If he got well.

Duly prepared, she stepped inside the gloom of the cabin. Dying embers of a fire glowed in the grate, and Crane lay on the couch, stripped to the waist and bathed in sweat. Her heart clenched when she saw him; his breathing was shallow and his skin had a greyish tint. His eyes opened as she approached.

'Hey.' It was all she could muster.

'Miss Mills, I thought you had gone.'

She crouched down beside him and smoothed down his damp hair. It was meant to convey comfort, but the gravity of the situation lent the gesture a strange significance.

_He might be dying,_ she thought, trying to keep the tears at bay. _This might be goodbye._

'I'm not going anywhere,' she whispered. 'How are you feeling?'

'Better, I think.' The sickly shade of his skin and the rasping sound of his breathing gave the lie to his words. 'Well, to own the truth, I'm a little thirsty.'

Abbie held a glass of water to his lips, grateful to be doing something useful. Crane made a noise to signal when he had had enough.

'I've been thinking about Miss Burke's prophecy,' he rasped. 'How conveniently it came true.'

Abbie crooked an eyebrow. 'You think she and her husband are in league with Moloch?'

'It's possible.' He was overcome by a flurry of coughing. 'Forgive me,' he said when he had recovered. 'Mr. Doyle showed a marked antipathy towards me. It's curious.'

'Not that curious.' Abbie smiled with her eyes. Despite her attempt at humour, she couldn't help wondering if he was right. The sudden disappearance of Maeve and Finbarr certainly seemed suspicious. She noticed that Crane's eyelids were beginning to droop.

'You should sleep.'

'Miss Mills, would you be so kind as to check on my wife for me? I would rest easier if I knew how she was.'

Abbie nodded and saw his entire body relax into slumber. She smoothed his blankets and moved towards the bedroom where she saw Katrina asleep on the bed. Her agitated manner suggesting bad dreams.

'Katrina,' she said softly, touching her forehead with a gloved hand. The other woman was burning with fever.

'Miss Mills,' she said groggily, as if slightly confused about her surroundings. 'My husband – is he well?'

Abbie felt a tug at her heart. 'He was just asking the same about you.'

Katrina pulled back the blankets and placed her feet on the floor. She stood up unsteadily. 'We don't have much time.'

'Katrina, what are you doing?'

'I dreamed of the horseman of Conquest,' she replied, panicked. 'He is coming tonight – he is planning to infect the whole township of Sleepy Hollow. There will be a pestilence which will dwarf the plagues of old.' She looked intently at Abbie. 'The two Witnesses are all that stands in his way. If Ichabod dies, all is lost. Will you help me?'

'How?' Abbie asked, but Katrina was already moving into the other room.

Katrina knelt beside her sleeping husband, a look of terror contorting her face. 'He is fading.'

'No.' Abbie shook her head. 'The doctor will be back soon.'

'It may be too late. Abbie, the full moon is tonight.' Katrina looked at her in desperation. 'Help me!'

'Tell me how!' Even she could see that Katrina was right. Crane looked terrible; she wasn't sure that even Dr. Gibbons could help him now.

'Give me your hand.'

Even in the anguish of the moment, Abbie hesitated. After all this time, she had to admit that she did not fully trust Crane's wife.

'You want him to live, yes?' Katrina's gaze was unflinching. 'You are his partner, his fellow Witness. Alone, you are helpless - together you have the power to defeat the evil that grows daily. He must live.'

Abbie's mind reeled. She sensed that Katrina was about to ask something of her, something she was not sure she could afford to give. As she looked down at her dying partner, she realised that there was nothing she wouldn't do to save him. She held out her hand.

Katrina picked up a sharp scissors from Crane's writing desk. She tore off the surgical glove and made a cut in Abbie's palm that drew blood. Abbie gasped in pain and surprise as Katrina made a similar wound in her husband's hand.

'I will conjure a blood bond between you.'

'Katrina, no!' she cried out in alarm, but Crane did not stir. She felt horror at the words, recalling the pain that Crane had suffered because of his blood-tie with the Horseman of Death. It had almost driven him to suicide.

'You have an immunity to this illness, Abbie, I do not. This is the only way!'

Abbie had never heard such fury from Katrina before. The choice was clear to her – either accept this link with Crane or accept his death. She heard her blood pulsing in her ears.

'Do it.'

Abbie opened her eyes. She saw sunlight streaming through the windows of the cabin. It took a moment to realise that she was curled up in an armchair in the corner of the front room. Someone had thoughtfully placed a blanket over her during the night - the night that was a blank in her memory. She remembered Katrina casting the fatal spell over her and Crane, and then – nothing.

_Crane…_

The couch was empty. That was when she heard the noise. It sounded strange, like the whimpering of a wounded animal.

Dr. Gibbons emerged from bedroom and immediately locked eyes with Abbie. 'I'm so sorry,' she said.

Abbie pushed past her and stepped inside. Sitting on the bed was Crane – alive, though paler and thinner as a result of his ordeal. Tears were pouring down his cheeks as he cradled his wife in his arms.

Katrina looked beautiful in death, pale as frost in midwinter. The russet hair that trailed over her face was like a final blush in her lifeless cheeks.

Abbie rushed to Crane's side, tears falling from her eyes. She was speechless, uncomprehending. She held Katrina's hand as Crane wept, giving silent thanks to the witch who had given her life to save his. She had stopped Conquest from riding, from infecting the whole of Sleepy Hollow. Yet, for all of her power, she was not strong enough to withstand the sickness that consumed her.

It was just her and Crane now. Two Witnesses - bound together in life and death.


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's note: The events from episode 1x11 'The Vessel' didn't happen in my universe. Henry Parrish is not evil, just your average Sin Eater.**

Chapter Eight

Abbie Mills knew what empathy was. She was an exceptionally empathetic person; that was part of what made her such a good cop. It was impossible to count the number of times she had got a suspect to break by forming an emotional bond with them. It was an innate skill that was impossible to learn.

In the days following Katrina Crane's death, found herself in a state of emotional flux. She felt more than the expected sense of pity for Crane's loss; there were times when she felt something close to despair. Her feelings confused her as she barely knew Katrina. She certainly felt guilty – guilty that she had not befriended her when she had the chance.

Crane, already fragile from his illness was thrown into a state of complete desolation. It was as if his life's fulcrum had been drastically shifted, leaving him unbalanced and off-centre. As the days went by, Abbie found herself spending more time in the cabin. In the beginning, she was there solely to keep an eye on him, to ensure that he ate and bathed. Slowly, Abbie found that she needed to be there for her own peace of mind. She found – to her confusion – that she couldn't sleep unless she was close to Crane.

One night, Abbie felt so miserable that she sneaked out of the cabin when Crane had gone to sleep, went to a bar and got tanked. She showed up at Luke's place and tried to put the moves on him. It wasn't her smartest or most dignified act, but she was lonely and sad. Luke was sympathetic but firm, tucking her up in his bed while he took the sofa. Abbie was reminded once more of what a decent man Luke was.

On a bright spring day at the town cemetery, a small funeral was held for Katrina, presided over by the local deacon. After a tasteful service, Katrina was laid to rest. Tossing a handful of soil onto the coffin, Abbie felt something like love for Crane's tragic wife, who had suffered so much, yet chose courage and self-sacrifice where others would cower in fear, placing the fate of the world ahead of her own life.

He would never admit it, but Abbie knew that the whole affair was organised almost single-handed by Captain Irving. After the burial, he led the dazed Crane back to the station. Abbie guessed that he planned to get them well and truly hammered; she knew he kept a bottle of single-malt scotch squirreled away in his desk.

Abbie felt Jenny take hold of her elbow and guide her away from the cemetery. They strolled along under an avenue of broad oak trees on the sidewalk. Buds were appearing on many of the branches; it seemed for all the world like a beautiful spring day.

Out of nowhere, Jenny spoke, her voice uncharacteristically vulnerable. 'You have to stay strong, Abbie. Don't let Crane drag you down with him.'

'Excuse me?' Abbie exclaimed.

Jenny stopped walking and turned to her sister. 'I don't know how this blood-link mumbo-jumbo works, but it's pretty clear that it affects emotions.'

Abbie smarted at Jenny's words. Their relationship had healed to a certain extent over the past year, but it was easy to fall back into old patterns. The way she was feeling that day, she was in no mood to be patronised by her little sister.

'Hey, we just got done burying Crane's wife. It stands to reason that everyone's feelings are a little raw.'

'Take it easy, okay?' Jenny held up her hands as in surrender. 'Since it happened, I've seen you pull Crane back from the edge more times than I can count. You don't have to say anything, you don't have to do anything – you being there makes all the difference. I just think that maybe it's a two-way street.'

Abbie was thunderstruck. Her erratic emotions over the past few days suddenly made a horrible kind of sense. She wasn't just empathising with Crane, she had been channeling his grief. Her mind reeled. She was so relieved that Crane was safe that she hadn't given a second thought to how Katrina's spell would affect them. All she knew was that they were perilously linked, over and above their bond as Witnesses. She felt a little sick.

The idea that their moods, their feelings were connected was alarming for many reasons. She did not want to be responsible for his emotions, much less for him to deal with hers. Jenny's warning rang in her ears – it was up to her to support Crane, not to let him pull her down into despair. The burden of this knowledge weighed heavily on her shoulders. Now there was another reason to get rid of this stupid blood-tie once and for all.

'We won't have to worry about it for much longer anyway.'

'Oh yeah?' Jenny enquired.

'I called Henry Parrish. As soon as he gets here, we can get it done. There's no reason why Crane has to know about it.'

Jenny's eyebrows lifted in disbelief. 'You mean you haven't told him about it yet?'

'Of course not,' Abbie snapped. 'You really think he could handle that on top of everything else?'

Jenny had to concede that her sister was correct. 'What time does he get in?'

'The six o'clock train tonight.'

They wound their way back to the place where Abbie's car was parked. Just as they were buckling in, Abbie's police radio crackled to life.

'Dispatch, do you copy?'

'Copy, Dispatch. This is Lieutenant Mills, over.'

'We have reports of a disturbance in a wooded area near Mill Pond. What's your ETA?'

'I can be there in ten.'

Abbie started the engine and the car screeched into action. It was a relief to deal with something normal after such a horrible few days.

She pulled into a lay-by near Mill Pond and killed the engine. As she checked her weapon, she turned to her sister. 'You're gonna have to sit this one out, sis.'

'Are you kidding me?' Jenny's temper flared. 'I didn't come out here with you to stay at the kiddie's table.'

'This is strictly non-demon stuff. I can't have an unpredictable element in the middle of the situation.'

'Who's gonna watch your back if something happens?'

Abbie could see more than more than just stubbornness in her sister's expression. Jenny was worried about her, and having just buried Crane's wife, Abbie was not inclined to take risks.

'Okay, but stay at the back. And don't do anything stupid.'

As they made their way into the lightly-wooded area, late afternoon sunshine dazzled their eyes. Despite the warmth of the day, Abbie felt a chill run through her body. Her instincts – honed over years of investigative work – told her to be wary.

'Jenny…' Her voice was a warning.

'I know,' her sister replied. Something was wrong.

Out of the corner of her eye, Abbie saw a blur of grey. As she turned, demonic features registered on her retina. Before she could react, there was a loud bang from behind her and the creature disintegrated.

'So,' Jenny remarked. 'Strictly non-demon, you were saying?'

'Thanks.' Abbie was suddenly grateful for her sister's presence. Several more creatures appeared from behind the trees, which they dispatched together.

'Where are they coming from?' Jenny sounded breathless.

'I don't know. Maybe they were sent to welcome Conquest.'

'Abbie!' Jenny grabbed her sister and threw her to the ground. Two imps came at them at once; one pinned Jenny down while the other tackled Abbie.

Abbie could hear her sister grunting with frustration, but couldn't free herself to help her. The thing was kneeling on her gun hand while clawing at her face. Its talons gouged at her, reaching for her eyes. She tried to wriggle free, to turn her torso, anything to dislodge it. It pressed into her chest, crushing the breath from her body.

'Jenny…' she whispered. Just as she began to lose consciousness, she heard a series of popping sounds, and then the weight on top of her disappeared.

Pulled upright and propped against a tree, Abbie opened her eyes and saw Jenny's face inches from hers.

'You okay?' Jenny seemed shaken, though unhurt.

Abbie nodded. She looked up, the fog in her head clearing. Standing a few feet away from her with a large crossbow in one hand was Finbarr Doyle. Beside him, cleaning a slender blade on her T-shirt, stood Maeve Burke.

Doyle hunkered down and touched a smattering of greyish dust with a gloved hand. 'I think they're dead,' he quipped.

'What are you doing here?' Abbie asked. 'You skipped town – you're fugitives.'

'You're welcome,' Maeve remarked lightly.

Jenny stepped forward and extended a hand. 'Really, thank you.'

Standing straight, Doyle shook her hand with a satisfied nod.

'No kidding, where did you guys get to?'

'Mexico,' Maeve replied without hesitation. Doyle fixed her with a pointed look which she studiously ignored. 'We were looking for a warlock.'

'Why?' Abbie enquired, her faculties returning. Her instincts told her not to trust either of them.

Maeve hesitated, as if weighing up whether they could be trusted. 'We had an idea... about defeating Moloch.'

'Maeve!' Doyle warned.

'Barry!' She mutinously returned his stare. 'He was dead when we got there so we turned around. We heard there a witch living in Sleepy Hollow - thought she might be able to help.'

Jenny looked back at Abbie uncomfortably. 'There was but… she died.'

'Oh.' Maeve visibly slumped.

'Yeah, Crane's wife,' Abbie supplied.

Doyle turned back to peer at her. 'Who – Perfidious Albion? Hmm, Maeve here was sure he was knocking boots with you.'

Abbie pulled herself up to her full height. Despite her short stature, she was aware that she projected presence and authority. 'What? No! He's my partner, that's all.'

'You sure?' Doyle cocked an eyebrow. 'My wife's instincts are pretty good about these things.'

Abbie saw that Jenny was smirking, and instantly switched to attack mode. 'You're aware that there are warrants issued for your arrest? I'd be within my rights to take you in.'

That wiped the smiles from their faces. A satisfied grin pulled at the corner of her mouth. 'Fortunately for you, I'm in a good mood today.'

They arrived at Abbie's just as the taxi pulled up. The back door opened and the familiar figure of Henry Parrish emerged, walking as if burdened with the many sins he had assimilated in his life.

'Miss Mills, how lovely to see you,' greeted her in his usual eccentric manner, hovering just out of reach. He eyed the group standing over her shoulder with mild fascination.

'Thanks for coming, Henry.'

They entered Abbie's house and stood uncomfortably in her open-plan living room.

'I'm a little confused, Miss Mills. I don't usually cater to large crowds.'

Abbie pointed to Doyle and Maeve. 'I need you to tell me if they are allied with Moloch.'

Doyle looked affronted, but a little impressed. Henry stared closely at each of them in turn. His gaze returned to Doyle's face.

'This one, his sins are heavy. His blood is thick with them, tormenting him daily.' Doyle withered slightly under his penetrating stare.

Henry turned his attention to Maeve. 'She has sins too, but it would be uncouth to reveal them in front of her husband.'

The old man regarded Abbie. 'They are not on the side of Moloch.'

'Thank you, Henry.'

'I do not believe you asked me all this way merely for that.'

Abbie led Henry into the only place where they could be alone – her bedroom. She briefly explained what had happened to Katrina and the spell she had placed on her and Crane.

'I need you to remove the blood-tie, Henry, like you did with Crane and the Horseman.'

'Very well,' Henry said. 'I need to uncover what Katrina used to bind the spell. Give me your hand.' Henry swept a few objects from Abbie's bedside cabinet and placed her hand upon it. Taking a small knife from his pocket, he sliced her palm, letting a few drops of blood fall onto the wooden surface. He touched the pad of his index finger into the pool of blood and tasted it.

He closed his eyes for a moment, breathing deeply. Finally, he dropped Abbie's hand and looked at her. 'I'm sorry, Miss Mills. This task is beyond me.'

'What are you talking about? You did it before.'

'That was different. Ichabod's sin – or rather his mistaken guilt – is what bound the blood-tie with the Horseman of Death. That is not the case here.'

Abbie shook her head uncomprehendingly. 'What's my sin, then? What's keeping this spell in place?'

'No sin, Miss Mills.' Henry stood up. 'Or rather, the opposite of sin. Oh, clever Katrina. She knew what she was doing.'

'Henry, what are you saying?'

The silence was unbearably tense. Finally, Henry spoke.

'The spell is bound by your love for the other Witness, and his love for you.'

Abbie's mouth opened and closed several times, unable to respond.

'I cannot remove this spell, unless you can remove your feelings for each other. I'm very sorry.'


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

Crane rolled onto his back and stared up at the unfamiliar ceiling. It took him a few moments to recall where he was. He was in his bed, in his house, and his wife was sleeping next to him. He smiled.

The last whisper of the dream faded from his mind. The world had seemed so real – the cabin by the lake, the fantastical world with its unique dialect, its strange customs and slightly threatening aspect – it was all an invention of a fevered brain. How curious.

Katrina snuggled closer. 'Good morning, my love,' she sighed. Her breath was warm against his skin.

Yes, this was real.

_Abbie shook Crane for the umpteenth time, tears pricking her eyes. _

_'Crane,' she pleaded. 'You've got to wake up. You've got to listen to me.'_

_She was filled with a sense of miserable hopelessness. She had abandoned Crane; forsaken the other Witness in his hour of need._

_The last few weeks had been hellish, dealing with Henry's bombshell while trying to trawl through the usual spate of robberies, assaults and domestic incidents at work. There had been nothing demonic stirring lately, so it seemed like a good excuse to leave Crane to his own devices. _

_Jenny had been checking up on him from time to time, but Abbie couldn't bear to see him. After everything that had happened – Katrina's death, the blood-bond, Henry's revelation – it was all just too painful._

_She nearly had a heart attack when Jenny called that morning. _

_'Crane won't wake,' she said matter-of-factly. 'He's breathing, but he won't wake.' _

_This was her justice, the karmic reward for her neglect._

_Abbie watched his sleeping figure. His breathing was slow and steady and his eyes moved beneath his lids. Did this have something to do with his recent illness? Or the blood-tie? _

___She tried to calm her racing heart. 'Calm down, Abbie. If you hurt yourself, you hurt him.'_

_Damn it all. She knew her future was unclear – she didn't need Henry Parrish to tell her that. She was well aware that she would be lucky to survive the seven years of tribulations prophesied for her and Crane. Their fates had been tied together for a long time before Katrina's spell was cast, but now their lives were inextricably bound. That was terrifying enough, but now there was another layer of anxiety. _

_She wasn't in love with Crane – it was impossible. He was her comrade-in-arms, the only person who could relate to the constant fear that surrounded her. But her soulmate? He was a Revolutionary soldier out of time with an over-developed sense of chivalry – and a recently-bereaved one to boot. They couldn't be less compatible if they came from different planets._

_'Katrina…' Crane whispered._

_'Oh my God,' Abbie said aloud. 'He's dreaming.'_

The breakfast table was laid for a banquet. Crane's eyes sparkled with happiness. There was nothing like waking in your own home to a good breakfast. He had spent so long in tents and trenches, far away from his true love. The food smelled divine, and last night's dream seemed so far away.

'Shall I pour you some coffee, my sweet?' Katrina's voice was like honey.

Crane's heart soared as he sat down opposite his wife. A letter sat beside his plate; he recognised the handwriting immediately.

'A letter from the General,' Crane exclaimed. He sliced open the envelope and cast his eyes over its contents.

'Glad tidings?' The smile on Katrina's face was like sunshine.

'General Washington has extended my furlough. I'm to remain at home until the end of the month.'

'Oh, Ichabod, Jeremy will be so pleased.'

'Jeremy?' Crane's face fell.

_But Jeremy's…_

He snapped back to the present, his face settling into a smile. 'Yes, of course. Where is Jeremy?'

Katrina stood up and pulled a velvet rope next to the wall. A bell tinkled throughout the house. A mob-capped maid appeared almost instantly.

'Bring Master Crane to his papa.'

'At once, Ma'am,' the maid replied.

'Thank you, Abigail.'

The maid disappeared.

_Abigail. _That name – it was so familiar. A face flashed before his eyes – a woman with dark skin and dark eyes, laughing merrily at some joke. He shook the vision away. That was a dream – this is real.

'Something the matter, Ichabod?'

'Nothing, my love.'

The maid returned, carrying a small boy in her arms. Tears sprung to Crane's eyes as Abigail handed the tiny bundle to him. The boy immediately pressed his sweet face into the crook of Crane's neck.

'Papa…'

'Jeremy, my son.' Crane felt a sob rising in his throat as he kissed his son's soft locks.

'Promise you'll never leave us again,' Katrina said sweetly.

Crane laughed gently. 'I am at the service of my General, as well as my country, love.'

Katrina slid into the seat beside his, stroking Jeremy's cheek with one hand, her other tangled in her husband's hair. 'You belong here with us, husband. Stay.'

Her voice was insistent, yet soothing. He wanted nothing more than to comply with her wishes. 'Yes, I will stay.'

_Abbie gasped with relief as Jenny entered the cabin, Maeve trailing behind her. _

_'Thank god.'_

_Maeve approached Crane's bed. 'Finbarr won't like this,' she said nervously. 'He doesn't trust any of you.'_

_'Please,' Abbie begged, her hand clutching Crane's. 'Please help.'_

_Maeve sat on the bed and placed a sack-covered object on the bed. She looked sheepishly at Abbie and Jenny. 'This is a little gross.'_

_She pulled off the sack to reveal a human skull with the lower jaw missing._

_'Oh, my God!' Jenny was disgusted. 'Where did you get that?'_

_'Mexico. It belonged to that warlock I told you about.' She caught the look of alarm that Abbie sent her way. 'We didn't take it off his shoulders, don't worry. This artefact is several hundred years old.'_

_'Um, just out of curiosity,' Abbie enquired. 'This warlock – did you find him dead or did you just leave him that way?'_

_Maeve shuddered as if recalling something horrible. 'Do you want my help or don't you?'_

_'Do it,' Abbie said without hesitation._

_Jenny left the room as Maeve prepared to perform her seer's chant. She had seen this once before at the museum; she had no interest in watching a repeat of this freaky ritual. _

_Maeve had her hands planted on the skull as she repeated her incantation. Abbie watched in alarm as the girl's body turned stiff and her eyes became coated with a film of white. After what seemed like an eternity, she gasped and prised her fingers from the skull. _

_'Are you okay?' _

_Maeve sat hunched over, her head in her hands. 'I'm all right. Just give me a second.' _

_When she finally sat up straight, she looked exhausted. 'Crane had a vision last night. A trickster-demon in the form of Katrina.'_

_'A trickster-demon?'_

_'They appear in myths all over the world. Loki in Norse mythology, Bricriu in Irish stories. They take many forms but their purpose is the same – to sow discord. This creature is probably in the service of Moloch. He asked Crane what his one wish was. Crane said "to go home." So now he's trapped in a dream-state, where he thinks the dream is real and this world doesn't exist.'_

_Abbie tried to absorb everything Maeve had just told her. Crane was so lost in grief that he had chosen a fantasy of his old life, rather than live in the real one. She felt so guilty. He must have been so lonely, so confused. This was all her fault._

_'Okay, so what do we do?'_

_Maeve shrugged, instantly transforming back into the sullen, uncommunicative girl she was before. _

_'We can't just leave him like this! How do we wake him up?' _

_'We don't. He needs to wake up of his own accord.'_

_'Katrina.' Crane whispered. _

_'He seems pretty happy where he is,' Maeve murmured._

Crane strolled across the lawn, feeling the afternoon sun warm his skin. Katrina clung to his arm and Jeremy ran ahead of them, frolicking without a care in the world.

'Should I procure a dog for him, my sweet?'

Katrina smiled, leaning her weight against his arm. 'What a nice idea. A little pug to sit on my lap.'

'I was thinking of a sheepdog, to watch over him when I am back at my regiment.'

There was an unpleasant silence. Katrina stopped walking.

'What is wrong, love?' Crane turned to her.

Her face was distorted in an unpleasant grimace. 'You promised you wouldn't leave.'

Crane laughed lightly. 'I must return to my men, as commanded by General Washington.'

'You are going to abandon us again.'

Again? What did she mean?

Katrina backed away from him slowly, her face bearing an unfamiliar trace of malice. 'Come, Jeremy! You won't leave me, will you?' She picked up the boy and swung him around, laughing wildly.

'Katrina, come back! I will never leave you!' Crane felt cold all of a sudden.

_Maeve looked at Abbie as if she was mad. 'What do you mean, "go into the vision with me?"'_

_'I need to into the dream place, wherever Crane is. I need to talk to him.'_

_Maeve tucked the skull into the sack and stood up. 'I'm a seer, okay? I see. I don't bring people with me.'  
_

_'But...'_

_'You know who I was when Finbarr found me?' she continued, ignoring Abbie's interruption. 'I was living on the streets. My parents had kicked me out, I was strung out, doing anything or anyone for a score.' She tugged the sleeves of her sweater down in a practiced motion. 'Finbarr took me in, straightened me out, taught me that my powers didn't make me a freak. What I do, the things I see, I wouldn't wish on anyone. Not even you.'_

_Abbie gently took hold of Maeve's hands. 'I know it's hard, but the man in that bed means a lot to me. I never expected him in my life, but now I need him. I don't function properly without him. He's my best friend. Please help me.'_

_Slowly, a saucy grin crept onto Maeve's face. 'Only if you admit that you fancy him.'_

Crane was lost. The comfortable home that was so familiar to him was gone. Departed too was the beautiful sense of belonging that he felt there. He was wandering in a wasteland, confused and lonely. Katrina was gone from him – and Jeremy too. He had betrayed and abandoned them both. He deserved to be alone.

He found himself in a field of some sort, surrounded by high fences and wooden benches. It was oddly familiar to him, like a memory contorted and faded by time and distance. He found himself walking towards one of the benches, hearing faint, ghostly echoes of laughter and activity. Sitting down, he felt himself thrown back to another place, but where?

'Hey, Crane. You remember this? This is the baseball field in Sleepy Hollow. This is our place.'

He turned and saw a lady sitting next to him. Her appearance was so evocative that he barely noticed that she was wearing trousers.

'Miss, do I know you?'

'You know me, Crane. It's Abbie, your Abbie. This world – I know it feels real to you, but it's not.'

Crane felt affronted. 'This is my home, Miss… Abbie.' He swallowed, feeling himself drawn to this strange woman in a way he could not explain. He must not submit; it would be like accepting that the dream was real. He had to hold on to this world - it was all he had left. 'My wife and son are here.'

'Your wife and son are dead. They're dead, and I'm sorry, Crane. I'm sorry I wasn't there when you needed me. I'm sorry you felt so lonely that you chose a fantasy over the real world. Because that's what this place is – a fantasy. The real world is ugly and imperfect, but at least it's real.'

Crane watched as this woman, this _Abbie_ began to fade in front of his eyes.

_Don't go_. His mind betrayed him, filling him with strange, unaccountable feelings and wishes. _Don't leave me here alone._

'You've got to wake up, Crane. Wake up!'

And his world slipped away from him.

He opened his eyes and found himself back at the cabin, back in Sleepy Hollow in the 21st century. The feeling of blissful peace that pervaded the dream world was gone. Katrina and Jeremy were gone, but Abbie was here.

'Hey, Crane. Welcome back.'

'Hello,' he replied evenly, as if he hadn't been away.

'You okay?' Her voice trembled with emotion.

'I don't know how I feel. That place seemed so real to me. I was… happy there.'

Abbie felt part of herself fall away as he spoke. She had woken him up; she had taken him away from the place where he was happy. And for what? To return to his life as a Witness, widowed and bereft, with nothing but her for company.

'Thank you, Abbie.'

She was completely taken aback. 'What for?'

'I wanted to go home so badly, to return to the life I had before. Everything I knew was there, but I was still lonely. Then you appeared, and I knew what was missing. I missed my friend – I missed you.'

Pain settled in Abbie's chest and she had trouble breathing. A realisation struck her with the force of a bullet and she had a sudden desire to cry.

_Oh my God, I love him. I do love him._

The how and the when didn't seem to matter to her. All she knew was she loved him; she was so in love with him it was killing her. What was she going to do?

Crane saw the turmoil in her expression. 'Miss Mills, are you all right?'

Abbie breathed deeply. 'Just glad to have you back, that's all,' she lied.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

Crane sat in the gloom of the empty office, trying to make sense of the last few hours. The day had started off with such promise; he had come to the station for the first time in weeks, primed to jump back into work. The previous few months had been a trial, but as summer drew to its close, he found that the constant ache within him had begun to dissipate.

He still deeply missed Katrina, but as time went by, he came to realise that the world had not stopped turning. Moloch had not allowed him a grace period in which to mourn, and despite his pain, the Apocalypse still loomed. It was time to soldier on.

Crane knew that he was indebted to the small circle of friends who had pulled him back from the brink – Captain Irving, Miss Jenny, and most crucially Lieutenant Abbie Mills. It was her firm and gentle hands that had cared for him during his illness – it was she who had entered his dream to guide him home. He knew that he could never repay her kindness, even in a thousand lifetimes.

He wanted to thank her – he had tried a dozen times – but the words turned to ashes in his mouth. Compared with her generosity, even his fine expressions and linguistic flourishes were shabby things.

He knew that she was still worried about him, still afraid that he would lose his grip on the world again. There were times when he could feel her eyes following him when she thought he wasn't aware. At other times, it felt like she could hardly bear to look at him. It seemed as if she couldn't bring herself to speak either.

He had arrived at the station eager to work, but the moment he entered the bullpen, he immediately felt as if he had been kicked in the gut. Flowers and balloons festooned Abbie's desk, and the congratulations of her colleagues echoed in Crane's ears.

He had forgotten her birthday.

Last year had been a muted affair, spent huddled in the archives with cartons of spicy Oriental food. They were battered and bruised, having just been chased through brambles and undergrowth by a brace of winged hellhounds.

'I must confess myself surprised,' Crane ventured, 'that birth anniversaries are accorded such importance nowadays. They were never treated thusly in my day.'

Abbie scooped a forkful of rice into her mouth. 'It's a lot to do with money, I guess. A lot of people make hay from inflating holidays out of proportion. Greeting card companies wouldn't exist otherwise.' A thought struck her. 'Hey, I can't believe I never asked when your birthday was!'

Crane shrugged carelessly. 'I never celebrated the occasion, so it matters little.'

'What, not even as a little boy?' Abbie's expression was sceptical.

Crane paused, wondering if he could trust her. It was still early in their relationship; looking back, he found it hard to believe that there was a time like that. Finally, he decided to take a leap of faith. It was her birthday, after all, and this was the only gift he could afford to give her.

'My mother died bringing me into this world. It upset my father to be reminded of it, so the day always passed unmarked.'

He remembered Abbie's expression. Surprise and compassion seemed to radiate from her; she had the sensitivity to know that sympathetic noises were not required. He appreciated her restraint, and respected her all the more for it.

The memory of that exchange pricked his conscience. The irony did not escape him; he had forgotten her birthday – he who remembered everything.

He quickly excused himself and left the precinct building. Months before, he had spotted an antique book store near the centre of town. Surely he would be able to find something suitable there – a small token of his immense gratitude.

What he discovered shook him to his very core.

He was sitting in the gathering darkness – his mind still reeling – when Abbie entered.

'Hey, Crane. What happened to you today?'

'Lieutenant, I…' He was unable to continue.

She approached him and crouched down to eye level. 'Crane, are you okay?' she asked, concern etched in her features.

'Forgive me, Miss Mills. I have received a shock today – that is all.'

An all-too familiar look of terror came over Abbie's face. 'What is it? Tell me.'

'There is a purveyor of books in the town square called Shepherd's – are you acquainted with it?'

Abbie nodded.

'I went there to acquire a gift for you.' Crane found himself looking at his hands, unable to meet her gaze. 'Instead I found a book about the aristocracy of England. It piqued my interest, naturally. In it I discovered a section about slavery in England.'

He raises his eyes to hers.

'My father – I am ashamed to admit – employed slaves on his estate.' Crane observed Abbie keenly, and was relieved that there was not a trace of judgement in her eyes.

'It's not your fault, Crane. You're not your father.'

Crane flinched. There was something in her words that stung him deeply. 'It was only later that I came to realise the gross immorality of slavery. As a boy, it was all I knew.'

He looked at her pleadingly, as if seeking forgiveness.

Abbie nodded, encouraging him to continue.

'There was a lady who worked as housekeeper – Maria was her name. She was like a mother to me in many ways.' He had difficulty framing the words, as if they gave him immense pain to speak. He took a deep breath. 'The book alleged that in addition to being in my father's service, Maria also bore him four children out of wedlock. It's a scandalous falsehood, I know.'

'You're sure?' Abbie asked gently.

A sardonic smile crossed his face. 'I'm not sure of anything anymore.'

'Crane, your father turned his back on you – why do you care?'

'I still cherish his memory nonetheless. To see his name libelled in some scurrilous publication cuts me to the heart.' Crane struggled to untangle the painful snare of emotions inside him. He smiled in reminiscence. 'The one thing that impressed me about my father was his undying love for my mother, even after her death. He never forgot her. I always hoped to meet a woman that I might love in a similar fashion. When I met Katrina, I knew I had found her.'

Sometimes, it seemed as if Abbie could divine his thoughts at a glance. It was a disturbing talent. 'That's what this is about? Crane, this doesn't change how you felt about Katrina.'

'No?' Crane looked heartsick and lost. 'Then why do I find myself forgetting her face?'

There was that inscrutable expression again. 'You're moving on – recovering. You think you'll never get over someone dying, but eventually, it happens.'

'I do not wish to 'move on' as you put it,' Crane replied. 'I know it is the contemporary sentiment. When I married Katrina, I pledged her my love, my fidelity. Where is that fidelity now?'

'You promised 'til death us do part'. Not eternal devotion.'

She reached over and took Crane's hand. It was a reflex action, surely meant only to comfort.

'I'm the last person to defend men like your father. Men who exploited women like that are beneath contempt. But I know that loneliness does some crazy things to a person. Imagine how he felt. He had feelings for a black woman, in a time when he couldn't acknowledge that. He couldn't even acknowledge his own children. Not to the world, not even to you.'

Crane was indignant. 'He might have told me.'

'And you would have understood? The principled Ichabod Crane would have forgiven him?'

Once again, Crane marvelled at his fellow Witness; Abbie seemed to know him better than he knew himself. 'There was a time when I thought that my principles were what defined me. Sometimes I think they're nothing more than pride and folly.' He thought deeply for a moment. 'I was so lonely as a child, and I never knew… I had siblings.'

There was a long moment of silence. Crane considered the strangeness of life; the chance encounters that seem unlikely at first but end up feeling like fate.

Crane noticed Abbie discreetly checking her watch. 'Forgive me – am I keeping you from an engagement?'

'No…' Abbie reluctantly smiled. 'Luke asked me out for dinner tonight. I actually came back here to change.'

'Luke?'

'Yeah.' Abbie bore that evasive look again.

_Talk to me, Lieutenant. Tell me what you're thinking._

'Things have been okay between us lately, so when he invited me for a birthday dinner… I said yes.' She shrugged. 'I can cancel if you need to talk.'

Crane waved his hand. 'You deserve to celebrate such an illustrious occasion. I am not fit company tonight, in any case.' He picked up a carefully-wrapped parcel and handed it to her. 'I did make a purchase, though. For you.'

Abbie's face lit up in a radiant smile. 'You didn't have to do that, Crane.'

'It was my pleasure. I beg you not to open it in my presence.'

As she went to change, Crane contemplated how happy his gesture had made her, and in turn how glad he felt to make her so. He had selected an early edition of "Little Women" – a book she had once mentioned as a childhood favourite. He had laboured long and hard over the inscription, trying to encode the simple words with a deeper meaning.

In the end, he simply wrote: "For my Lieutenant, on the anniversary of her birth. Your devoted servant, Captain Ichabod Crane." He hoped the gift would make her smile, but more than that, he hoped she would guess from these meagre words how dear, how very precious she was to him.

He was so deep in his musings that he barely noticed her return.

'Don't mind me – just came to grab my coat.'

Crane forgot to breathe when he saw her. She wore a long, strapless evening dress, the colour of sunset. The tone suited her skin perfectly, and the shimmering fabric clung to her every curve. His eyes roamed irresistibly over her body. When she turned to grab her coat, he saw that the dress was slit up the back, revealing her shapely calf.

The room felt suddenly warmer.

'Do I look okay?' Abbie asked, a hint of nervousness in her voice.

'You look… very well, Miss Mills.'

She smiled her thanks and left. Crane despised himself in that moment; it was the most damnable lie that had ever passed his lips. She was – by any standard – absolutely ravishing. He could not say that aloud, much as he might wish to. Something told him that the moment the words hit the air, something would change between them. In any case, Abbie would probably be embarrassed by such a flowery compliment.

Besides all that, it seemed that she was courting Luke again. The idea made him uncomfortable in ways he could not define.

Words contained such rare power, he pondered. They were simple collections of phonemes and letters, yet they had an almost magical ability to alter and define entire lives. If he told her the absolute truth, she would think he was being "ironic" or whatever the modern catchphrase was. The truth was, she was a vision, a goddess, and the fact that this had gone unnoticed until now was extremely distracting.

He recollected himself. Abbie was his dearest friend, and she deserved to be happy. His opinions on her appearance did not matter in the least. In addition to that, he was still mourning Katrina; this was not the time to be harbouring inappropriate thoughts about his partner.

After all, it was not as if Crane was looking to woo her.

Was he?


	11. Chapter 11

**Author's Note: Thanks so much for the reviews! Mind the rating, as things start to heat up a bit from now on.**

Chapter Eleven

Abbie felt strong arms snake around her as she drifted into wakefulness. She sighed with contentment, pressing her back into the warm, enveloping embrace. Her eyes snapped opened as smooth skin grazed her neck. Those were not the lips she had dreamed of.

_Oh God. _

She'd gone and done it again. Rolling over onto her other side, she saw Luke's face inches away from hers. His hair was beautifully messy, just the way she'd remembered it.

'Morning, gorgeous.' He leaned in for a kiss; even his morning breath was sweet. 'Sleep well?'

'I think so. Why?'

'You were talking in your sleep.'

Abbie froze in horror. 'What was I saying?'

'I couldn't make it out. You seemed happy though – either that or you were being murdered.'

The dream came back to her with shocking clarity. Crane had her pinned up against the wall of the cabin – her legs wrapped around him. One hand was buried in her hair, the other gripped her behind as his hips squeezed against hers over and over again.

No wonder Luke heard her moaning. It was a wonder she didn't shout the house down.

_Oh, no. Please tell me I didn't say Crane's name._

Looking at Luke's placidly contented face, she knew she was safe for now.

She had to put a stop to this. 'This' had been going on for a few weeks now, ever since the night of her birthday. Things had been so hellish lately that it was sweet relief to spend an evening with old friend – even an old boyfriend. It was so easy – no complications, no misunderstandings, no demons to chase. They just reminisced about old times.

She blamed the wine. Caught up in a fog of Pinot Grigio and nostalgia, the two of them ended up hastily disrobing on Luke's couch. They both knew this routine so well that there was no hesitation or embarrassment. It all felt natural.

The next morning she awoke with a feeling of self-loathing. She had used Luke to distract herself from her life – from Crane – and she vowed never to let that happen again.

The next five times were sheer accidents.

She hated herself for her weakness, her loneliness and desperation. More than that, she hated that every time she drifted off to sleep in Luke's arms, she pictured herself being taken by another man.

The other night, over leftover pizza, she confessed everything to Jenny – about her love for Crane and the reason why Henry couldn't remove the blood-tie. Jenny was shocked, unable to see why Abbie wouldn't just tell Crane the truth.

'Don't you realise you could be endangering his life? And your own? If something happens to one of you, it affects the other.'

Abbie shifted uncomfortably in her seat. 'I'm well aware of that, Jenny. But Crane finds out that I have feelings for him, it's gonna open up a whole Pandora's Box. I'm trying to nip this in the bud.'

'By screwing your feelings away?'

'Yes.' Abbie stared unflinchingly at her sister. 'I say something, then it's real – I can't take it back. But if I can get over this thing, then I can get Henry to break the blood-bond.'

Jenny's expression was incredulous. 'Of all stupid ideas! What makes you think it'll work?' She blinked several times, not really expecting an answer. 'Abbie, did you ever consider that the bond is making your feelings stronger?'

'All the time.'

Abbie couldn't take it anymore; she broke down crying. What she was doing to Luke, to Crane, even to herself, was unforgiveable. She just couldn't think of any other way.

'I can't…' Abbie whimpered into Jenny's shoulder. 'I love him so much, but I can't… It'll kill us both…'

That was the moment she decided she wasn't going to let this defeat her.

Abbie checked her phone and saw a terse text message from Irving, summoning her to the archives. She untangled herself from Luke and fished around the bed for her underwear.

'Where are you going?' he whispered. 'It's early.'

She wriggled into her jeans. 'I have a meeting,' she said, reaching behind her back to hook up her bra.

'Lemme guess,' Luke murmured. 'Crane's gonna be there?'

'Don't start.' She pulled on her shirt and grabbed her jacket, leaning over to kiss his cheek. 'I'll call you later.'

As she pulled up outside the old Armoury building, she noticed Jenny's truck parked outside. Right behind it was a battered motor home.

The atmosphere was tense when she entered the archives. Captain Irving idly flicked through a dusty tome. Huddled to one side by themselves were Maeve Burke and Finbarr Doyle. Crane stood awkwardly next to Jenny.

'Good morning, Lieutenant.'

'Morning, Crane.' She couldn't bring herself to look at him, not when last night's dream was playing on a constant loop in her memory. Her eyes darted to the fingers of his right hand, twitching nervously by his side. She could practically still feel them trailing lazily down her body, setting her skin ablaze.

Irving slammed the book shut, snapping her back to reality. 'You're probably wondering what this little get-together is all about.'

'A little, sir.' She lowered her voice, nodding slightly towards the couple in the corner. 'What are they doing here? Shouldn't they be, you know, under arrest?'

The captain sighed. 'You know the expression, "my enemy's enemy is my friend"? It turns out we might have some interests in common.'

'Hey, Frank,' Jenny called over. 'You wanna share with the group? Some of us have places to be, POs to report to.'

'All right.' Irving addressed the room. 'I think it's safe to say that everyone in this room wants the same thing. We're all investing in destroying Moloch, in stopping the Apocalypse. For that reason, we all have to work together, to put aside our differences.' He glanced meaningfully at Crane for a moment, before looking in Doyle's direction.

'You're up.'

Doyle stepped forward and cleared his throat. 'I've been hunting demons for half my life. It's a cause I believe in – one I'm willing to die for if necessary. Maeve and I have a plan that could put a stop to Moloch once and for all. We don't ask you to die for this mission, but we need your help.'

It was Maeve's turn to speak. 'We went to Egypt to find a lost papyrus – part of the ancient Book of the Dead. It took years, but eventually we located it. Then we discovered an ancient skull in Mexico – a talisman that belonged to a warlock. These artefacts form two parts of a druidic triangle – one that would be able to restore a human soul.'

'A human soul?' Crane asked, dumbfounded.

'Specifically the soul of Abraham van Brundt – also known as the Horseman of Death.'

Abbie and Crane looked at each other in amazement.

'If we return his soul to him, he dies,' Maeve explained. 'He can't ride with the other horsemen. No Apocalypse.'

'What makes you think you can restore his soul?' Abbie enquired.

'Years of experience, love,' Doyle replied patiently. 'We've been searching for answers for a long time – looking for ways of defeating Moloch. The Horseman is his weak link; he used to be human, which means that he can be human again.'

'Once we find the third artefact, we will be that much closer to stopping them both,' continued Maeve.

'What is this artefact?' Jenny asked.

'It's a Masonic object – a wooden box, carved with the symbol of a square and compass. We need to find this artefact by nightfall, because we're not the only ones looking for it.' Maeve nervously glanced at her husband. 'Death is searching for it. He's coming back tonight.'

The effect of this information on the room was palpable. Shock and dismay was written on the faces of Crane, Abbie and Jenny. Only Irving seemed unperturbed by the revelation.

'How do you know all this?' Abbie queried.

Maeve looked sheepish. 'I used the Mexican skull to uncover Moloch's plans. Unfortunately, when I looked into Moloch's mind, he was also able to look into mine. He's sending Death on a seek-and-destroy mission.'

Jenny broke in. 'Where is this box?

Doyle thoughtfully scratched his beard. 'We believe it was buried with a prominent member of the Masonic Order somewhere around Sleepy Hollow. Further than that, we don't know. That's why we need your help.'

'I have questions.' Crane held up a finger.

'There's a surprise,' murmured Doyle.

'Once we find this box, how do you restore Abraham's soul? Do we have to imprison him in order to achieve this? We did that once before; one can only assume that repeating the exercise will be exponentially more difficult…'

'Okay!' Irving interrupted. 'First things first, we need to find the grave.'

Crane sprang to life. 'My brothers at the Masonic Lodge will surely have the information we need.'

'I'm going with you.' It was plain from Doyle's tone that it was not a suggestion. He had clearly not lost his mistrust of Crane.

'I should come too.' Abbie stepped forward. She did not want to let Crane out of her sight until the blood-bond was broken.

'Don't worry, love.' Doyle gave Crane's shoulder a faux-companionable slap. 'I'll take care of your fella for you.'

Crane bridled at his tone. 'Do not address Lieutenant Mills in that manner. And I am not her 'fella.'"

Maeve took this opportunity to weigh in. 'Don't talk to my husband like that, _Sasanach_. You may not have heard, but while you were sleeping, we had our own revolution. That means you don't get to oppress us anymore.'

'All right!' Irving barked. 'I'm coming with you two. Mills, try and find something here that might help. You two,' he glared meaningfully at Jenny and Maeve. 'Try not to do anything illegal.'

Abbie watched Crane walking towards the door, fear leaching through her like rain. If something happened to him, yes it would harm her too, but that was not what concerned her. Suddenly, the idea of him leaving without knowing how she felt was too much to bear.

'Crane?'

He turned back to face her. 'Yes, Lieutenant?'

She found herself incapable of speech. The words "I love you" were painfully lodged in her throat, almost choking her.

'Just be careful,' she blurted out. 'We still have work to do.'

He smiled reassuringly before following the others outside.

For the rest of the morning, the three women pulled old texts from the shelves, obsessively looking for answers. The only thing of interest that they uncovered was an old bardic manuscript that Maeve fell upon like a ravenous animal.

It was early afternoon by the time Abbie received a text from Irving, saying that they had located a possible grave site, about twenty miles north of the town. All they could do was wait and hope that they found it before sundown.

Abbie's heart nearly jumped out of her chest when Luke walked into the archives. 'Hey, Abs.'

'Luke, what are you doing here?' She instinctively shut the book she was reading. Jenny tried hard to look natural; she was such a terrible actress that she appeared all the more suspicious.

'I need to talk to you, Abbie.' He spotted Maeve lurking behind the desk. 'Hey, she's wanted for jumping bail! What's she doing here?'

'It's cool, Luke. She's working with us – Irving's orders.' She noticed that he appeared upset – scared even. 'What's the matter?'

'There's been a murder. A custodian working at the Old Dutch Church was decapitated last night.'

Abbie's eyes widened in shock. 'Decapitated?'

'The wound was cauterised – just like Corbin and Reverend Knapp.' He breathed shakily. 'Some of the old tombstones were smashed up. Whoever did this was looking for something.'

There was silence as Abbie absorbed what Luke had said. The Headless Horseman had killed again, and he was already searching for the artefact. She prayed that the others found it before he found them.

'This has happened too many times, Abbie. I've seen too many things not to believe. I've seen Andy Brooks, for God's sake.' His eyes shone with intensity. 'It's pretty obvious that you and Crane are involved in something weird. I know you're trying to stop whatever is killing people. Whatever it is, I'm in.'

Abbie contemplated lying to him. He had contentedly lived with his head in the sand for long enough, just like everyone else in this town. This was her burden; after all, she was the capital-W Witness. Guilt washed over her and she realised that she had to tell him the truth. She was already deceiving him; she owed him this.

She pulled up a chair. 'Take a seat, Luke – this is going to take a while.'

He sat down and looked at her with such innocence in his eyes that Abbie was forced to look away.

'Have you ever heard of a demon called Moloch?'


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

The sun was beginning to set, and still it seemed that Crane and Doyle had barely made a dent in the ground. They were working in shirtsleeves now, sweat pouring from them. The faster they dug, the more exhausted they became, each of them knowing they could not stop.

Death was approaching, and if experience was anything to go by, he would be bringing his friends with him. They would have to be ready for anything.

Irving was somewhere in the cemetery, watching the perimeter, waiting for the thunderous sounds of doom to bear down on them.

When Doyle suggested they take a five minute break, Crane was too drained to protest. Doyle took a long drink from a bottle of overpriced water and handed it to him. Surprise registered somewhere in the back of his mind, but every ounce of energy was focused on the fundamentals of breathing and living, so he played little attention to it.

The silence was becoming painful, so it was something of a relief when Doyle began to speak. 'I heard you lost your wife a while ago.' His tone was neutral, without the usual undercurrent of aggression.

Crane didn't meet his eyes. He had noticed lately that he spent long stretches of time without even thinking of Katrina. Then it came back to him like a knife in the gut – she was gone from him and it was awful.

'I did.' He was surprised; saying it aloud was not as painful as he had imagined.

Doyle gave a wan smile. 'I was married before too.'

'Your wife died?' Crane risked a glance in the other man's direction, cautious of opening himself up to Doyle's mockery.

'I wish. Fucking bitch ran off with the kids about ten years ago. Even took the dog.' Doyle chuckled bitterly. 'I don't really blame her. Living with me can't have been easy – I was always away, tracking down demons and whatnot. Even when I was there, I wasn't very happy.'

Crane tried to appear sympathetic, but even now the sky was darkening, and every moment that passed increased their danger.

'When I met Maeve it was like… I already knew her, like we'd met in another life.'

The Lieutenant's face flashed into Crane's mind. There were times when he believed that he was indeed connected to Abbie in a way that transcended time. Katrina's magic had not just allowed him to cheat death, to see a world he could never have imagined. It had also forced him to face his destiny and fight the oncoming Apocalypse, and in doing so, meet the person who would change his life, and even save it. For all that the modern world frustrated and confused him, he felt blessed to be there, if only because he shared it with Abbie.

He dared not think any more deeply of their bond, not since the strange incident on her birthday. His thoughts about her that night had been improper, disturbingly so. He acknowledged that he had been in a vulnerable state that evening, and besides which, he had known for a long time that the Lieutenant was uncommonly alluring. But he had never considered himself to be in any real danger – not until he saw her in that dress. The image of her swathed in shining cloth haunted him against his will, against every logical objection.

He could not put these feelings into words. He wasn't ready.

He pondered these things, even as Doyle continued to speak, explaining that he and Maeve weren't really married – not legally anyway – but the pretence made it safer for her to travel in Africa and the Middle East. They resumed digging, slightly refreshed by their rest, but knowing that they could not afford to delay any longer.

'Are you sure this is the right place?' Doyle wheezed.

'The Masons always kept a methodical account of their burials.' Crane's shovel clanged against something hard. He used the tip of the blade to scrape away a thin layer of soil and weeds, revealing what appeared to be a raised stone plinth set into the earth. On top of it there was a handle, choked with mud.

Crane looked at Doyle and saw him shrug. He reached for the handle and turned it, and then the earth opened up beneath him. He felt a hand grab his collar and jerk his entire body backwards before the earth swallowed him up.

He found himself lying on the grass, breathing heavily.

'That was close.' Doyle rose and hauled Crane upright. They both looked over the edge of the crater and saw a stone staircase leading down towards an ornate sepulchre. Crane looked at Doyle and realised what had just happened.

'You… saved my life.'

Doyle shrugged.

Crane felt his heart rate gradually return to normal. 'Thank you… Finbarr.'

'Barry. My friends call me Barry.'

'Crane!' Irving's voice drifted towards them. Seconds later, he came crashing through the trees. He took a moment to process the gaping hole in the earth before speaking again.

'He's here! The Horseman is here – I emptied a full clip into the son of a bitch. It only made him angry.'

'Into the tomb!' Crane shouted.

They ran down the steps and flung aside the ancient iron door that barricaded the sepulchre. They barely had a moment to look around the tomb before the ground began to shake. Hooves beat the earth and the sound of demonic whinnying pained their eardrums.

'Barricade the door,' Doyle ordered.

They hauled chunks of broken headstones from the ground and propped them against the door. Just as it was secure, it rattled furiously as the Horseman pounded on it from the outside.

'We have to find the box.' Crane snapped on his torch and saw a huge tomb, capped with a heavy stone lid. On its surface was a carving of the Masonic square and compass. 'Looks like we're in the right place. Help me, Captain.'

The banging grew louder and Doyle flung himself against the shuddering door. 'Guys…'

Crane and Irving placed all of their weight behind the lid and shoved it sideways. It moved a third of the way across the tomb, revealing an elaborate coffin underneath, similarly decorated with the Masonic symbol. They readied themselves again, pushing the lid aside and almost toppling into the tomb.

There was a fearful pause outside, and then a burst of automatic gunfire. The impact of the shots dented the door inwards and the furious pounding started again.

'Hurry!' Doyle insisted.

Irving grabbed a shovel and levered the coffin open. Inside was a desiccated skeleton, covered in the decayed remains of clothes… and nothing else.

'Where's the box?' Irving asked desperately.

Crane realised something. 'The coffin is the box,' he said, horror-struck. They looked at each other, realising the dire situation they were in.

Doyle reacted first, pulling out his phone. It seemed to take forever for the call to connect.

* * *

Maeve was poring over the bardic manuscript when her phone rang. She sighed with relief when she saw Finbarr's name appear on the screen.

'Hey, babe. Did you find it?'

'It's the coffin – the box is the coffin. Death's at the door.'

She heard the horrific noises in the background and knew there was no time to try and second-guess his words. 'Can you make physical contact with the coffin?'

'Yes, but it's no use. I can't get it to you – we can't create the triangle.'

Maeve's brain kicked into high gear. 'I have the other artefacts here. If I can make a connection with you, we can still do the ritual.'

She looked up and saw Abbie and Jenny exchange looks of curiosity and suspicion. Luke Morales looked bewildered, still overwhelmed with everything he had discovered that day.

'Jenny, hand me my bag.'

A heavy backpack lay on the floor. Jenny grabbed it and slid it across the table to Maeve, who opened it with one hand and pulled out a sheaf of manuscripts. She laid them on the table in front of her, alongside the ancient Mexican skull and her mobile phone.

Abbie eyed the strange collection of artefacts in front of her. 'That's the Book of the Dead? Shouldn't that be in a museum or something?'

'Do you really think this is the time? I'm trying to save the world here.' She laid her hands on the skull. 'Everyone shut up and stay still. I need to find Moloch.'

'Moloch?' Luke exclaimed. 'As in, Moloch the demon?'

She looked at him severely. 'He has Abraham's soul, pretty boy. Once I've found him, I can use the Book of the Dead to reunite Death with his soul. As long as Barry is in contact with the coffin, I can control the energy of the druidic triangle.' She took a breath. 'You still there, babe?'

* * *

The three men stood in the gloom of the sepulchre, feeling the entire structure shake around them. Every so often, the Horseman would fire off another round of shots into the door before resuming his assault on it. Before long, he would be through.

'Come on, come on,' Irving muttered.

Crane stared at Doyle. 'Are you sure this will work?'

'I've never understood Maeve's power. But I hope…' He trailed off as a huge chunk of masonry fell from the ceiling, the roof threatening to cave in on their heads.

'We have to find another way out of here.' Irving looked around the darkened interior, searching for a hidden exit, for any kind of rescue.

'Not yet!' Doyle insisted. 'We have to give Maeve a chance!'

Crane ran his fingers along the surface of the walls, knowing that Masonic sites were rarely what they seemed. He felt something that should not have been there – a stone protruding from the wall. He pressed it and jumped back as a panel slid into a hidden recess.

Shining his torch inside, he said, 'There's a passageway. Come on, we must leave.'

'Not yet,' Doyle repeated. He did not remove his hand from the coffin.

'It's a lost cause, Doyle. We'll think of another way!' Irving was crouching by the tunnel, already prepared to cut and run.

Doyle appeared to be in a trance. His body went completely stiff, his lips moving as words in an unknown language emerged. The thunderous shaking and banging at the door seemed to slow.

Crane and Irving shared a look, trying to understand what was going on.

'It's the spell,' Crane said in wonder. 'It appears to be working.'

A deafening rattle of gunfire reverberated through the tomb. A ray of moonlight shone through the door and the Horseman began smashing at the door with the butt of his gun.

'He's nearly through!' Irving shouted.

'Go!' Crane shoved him into the passageway. 'Barry!' He lunged forward and tried to pull the other man free from the coffin, but his grip was like steel. Crane looked at the door and saw, as if in slow-motion, the Horseman pulling a piece of metal away. The muzzle of a gun appeared through the hole.

Crane pushed Doyle will all his might and managed to break his grasp. They both tumbled to the floor as gunfire raked the room.

* * *

Maeve stood up and looked around her. Everything seemed blurry, as if covered with a fine mist. Aimless figures wandered past her, lumbering around without destination or purpose. She felt all hope and meaning being sucked away from her as she stood there. She forced herself to remember where she was and why she was there. She was in Purgatory, and she had to find Moloch.

'Maeve.'

She spun around and let out a gasp. Standing in front of her was her husband – his face grey and uncomprehending.

'Barry, what are you doing here?' It was only then that she spotted blood flowing freely from a wound in his neck.

'The Horseman got me, Maeve. I'm hurt.'

The horrifying realisation struck her; she had created a link with Barry. He was still connected to her; if he died here, we would remain in Purgatory forever.

'Barry.' She placed his hands on his face. 'You have to let go. Let go of this place – let go of me.'

'I can't.' Somewhere in Doyle's mind, he knew he was lying in the dark of the escape tunnel, bleeding out. Crane and Irving were next to him, trying in vain to staunch the bleeding. 'I don't want to die.'

'I know, but I'm with you. Don't be afraid – you're not alone.'

Doyle closed his weeping eyes and let himself go.

* * *

Maeve released the skull and stared blankly ahead of her. Three pairs of eyes looked expectantly at her.

'Well?' Abbie demanded. 'Did it work?'

She shook her head. 'No, it didn't work.'

'What happened?' Luke asked.

'My husband is dead,' she replied without emotion.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

Dawn broke after another sleepless night. Crane sat on the sofa in front of the large stone fireplace, listlessly staring into the dying embers. A week had passed since Finbarr Doyle's wake, and the revelation that had changed everything. He thought back on that strange day, two thoughts battling for supremacy in his mind: "How did this happen?" and "Why didn't I see this coming?"

They had gathered at the Catholic church for the funeral service – he and Abbie, Jenny, Captain Irving and even Detective Luke Morales. It wasn't as if Crane had any great affection for Doyle. The man had saved his life but, truth be told, their relationship had consisted almost entirely of insults. Even as he lay dying in the tunnel, Doyle had managed to whisper one last jibe: "I knew you'd be the death of me, Perfidious Albion."

Nevertheless, it felt right that he should be there, for no other reason than that Maeve was now completely alone in the world. She had especially requested that Doyle be buried in Sleepy Hollow.

'This where Barry died, and this is where I'll stay until I take that bastard down. After that, I don't care.' There was a chilling undercurrent to what she said, as if she didn't expect to survive either.

The funeral mass seemed as sparse as the congregation. The priest struggled to string together a fitting eulogy for Doyle from the bare facts that he had gleaned from Abbie and Irving. What could you say about a man who spent his life hunting demons and stealing ancient artefacts? There was something sad and pathetic about the whole affair.

As the coffin was lowered into the ground, Crane noticed that a layer of grass had sprung up on Katrina's grave. He felt a tug at his heart when he thought of the distance between them now. He silently promised to return the next day with some flowers to brighten up her resting place.

When all the rites were completed, the priest shut his bible and asked: 'Is there anyone who wishes to say a few final words?'

Maeve was unable to speak. None of the others – not even Crane – had the heart to say a word.

'I have something to say.'

They turned and saw the familiar craggy features of Henry Parrish. It was as if a ray of sun had brightened their cheerless gathering. He approached the grave, careful not to brush off anyone as he walked.

'I did not know Finbarr Doyle. In fact, I only met him once, but I believe I gained an insight into the man. I sensed a troubled man, tortured by the sins of his past. But in the end, I am told that his real nature shone through.' He paused and smiled in Abbie's direction. 'He sacrificed his life so that others might live. This is a lesson to all of us in our dealings with others, to show a little more kindness and tolerance – in his memory.'

Maeve could only smile her thanks.

When it was over, Crane was last in line to render his condolences. He felt surprisingly nervous. 'Miss Burke, I think I am unique among us in that I know something of what you are feeling,' he ventured. 'I know that nothing I say can console you,' he continued, 'but I assure you that eventually the pain does lessen.'

Crane expected one of two reactions from her: a polite pretence at gratitude, or outright contempt. Her response was unprecedented.

'Barry didn't believe in grief,' she replied. 'He thought it was pure guilt – proof that you didn't love the person enough when they were alive. I don't know if that's true, but I'm going to try and be happy.'

Crane felt a sudden pang of shame; he had spent too long wallowing in self-pity. He missed Katrina daily, but he knew that he had mourned her for long enough. Besides all this, she wouldn't want him to waste his life in grief.

Somehow, they all ended up back at the archives. It was a sombre scene; Abbie handed out coffee while Luke headed off to pick up some food. Everyone else sat around helplessly. It wasn't long before Maeve had had enough. She stood up.

'What's wrong with you people? You would think you were the ones who'd lost somebody. Finbarr was my husband – mine – and he's dead. I have to carry that, not youse.'

She marched out of the archives, and everyone was at a loss for what to do. They were discussing whether or not to follow her when she returned. In her hand was a bottle of Bushmills Black Label, presumably fetched from the motor home parked outside.

'Back home, when someone dies, we have a wake.' She cracked the seal.

'Are you sure this is such a good idea?' Irving said gently.

She gave him a withering look. 'Either hand me your cup or leave.'

Cowed, he raised his coffee cup and received a generous splash of whiskey.

Maeve likewise filled all the other cups. 'Feeling pretty low right now, huh? Like Moloch's got us beaten? The Apocalypse is coming – when isn't the Apocalypse coming? That's tomorrow's business. Tonight we drink.' Her voice quavered a little, but she didn't buckle. She held up her cup. 'We drink to those who are gone, and those who are here now. Most of all, we drink because we can. We're alive. So here's to Finbarr, and partying like it's 1799.'

Slowly, each of them raised their glasses. 'To Finbarr,' they said in turn.

Somehow, it all devolved from there. Irving unearthed a dusty old turntable from a cardboard box, along with a stack of old jazz records. It was one of the many forms of modern music whose charm eluded him, so Crane sat apart from the others, sipping his whiskey. He felt excluded from the frivolous jollity, and so spent a while chatting to Henry.

Maeve and the Mills sisters seemed to be having a drinking competition, the rules being, whoever got drunk first was the winner. Maeve seemed to be in the lead, when Luke walked in the door, laden down with pizza boxes.

'Hey,' she remarked. 'I don't remember ordering a stripper.'

Luke turned bright pink as the three women collapsed in fits of laughter. The food seemed to help matters, and for a while everyone sat in contented silence, feasting on masses of pizza. The opening bars of Billie Holiday's 'God Bless the Child' resounded, and Abbie and Jenny began to sing along. Jenny's voice was pretty, but Abbie's rose above the piano and brass instruments of the recording, sweetly filling the archives with clear notes.

Crane was amazed that he had never heard her sing before. The song was unfamiliar to him, and not quite to his taste, but her voice was enchanting. He felt as if he could listen to it forever. Too soon, however, the song ended and the group burst into applause. Abbie smiled shyly.

When Luke leaned over and kissed her cheek, Crane felt a sudden pang. Knowing that Luke could hear her angelic voice whenever he wished made him feel something raw. He was jealous, he knew it, and for once he didn't bother to deny the feeling. He sat gloomily in the corner, watching everyone else enjoying themselves, wishing they would all leave so he could be alone. With Abbie.

After a while, Maeve came over and sat down beside him. 'Care for a dance?'

'No, thank you. I'm afraid that modern music and I shall never be friends.'

'Why are you sitting here by yourself?' she enquired.

'I was pondering you,' he fibbed. 'You astonish me – your capacity for joy despite the circumstances.'

'Well, it's not easy,' she admitted. 'When it happened I thought I was going to die. Then I remembered something that I learned from Finbarr.'

Crane eyed her with curiosity.

'I used to think that the bravest thing you could do in life was give your heart to someone – freely and without any reservation – and love them forever. But now I know the truth.' She sighed deeply, trying to keep from crying. 'The bravest thing we can do in life is move on, when the person we love is gone from us.'

She looked up and saw Crane's face. He was staring at Abbie with a look of complete astonishment. Astonishment was only one of the tumult of emotions he was feeling at that moment. It was as if the veil had been pulled from his eyes, and for the first time, he truly knew himself.

He was in love with Abbie. He was – he could no longer deny it – quite desperately in love with Lieutenant Abbie Mills.

Maeve must have divined his thoughts, because she grinned broadly and left him to his thoughts.

A week had passed since that night, and every single day had been a struggle to contain his feelings. He would have thought himself bespelled, were if not for the fact that he could trace the progression of this feeling from their very first meeting. Curiosity and unfamiliarity slowly turned to trust and mutual reliance, gradually transforming into a friendship and admiration that was strengthened by the trials that they faced together. He should have sensed himself falling for her long before this. All the signs were there.

She had uncovered a wellspring of desire in him that he had never imagined existed. It had not been thus with Katrina. She was pristine and perfect; he had worshipped her much like the Catholics revered the Virgin Mary. Abbie was not perfect though – she was a creature made of fire, passionate and strong. Her heat drew him in and warmed his soul.

Whenever they were together in the archives or the station, he longed to take her into his arms and whisper words of adoration in her ear, to run his thumb over her soft lips. The nights were worse, full of visions of Abbie in his bed, naked and as smooth as silk. He kissed the soft skin on the inside of her wrist, murmuring 'Oh, my sweet Abbie.'

She drew two of his fingers into her mouth and then guided his hand down her body and between her legs. 'Touch me, Crane,' she sighed.

He would awaken, hard as a plank and groaning with frustration.

Last night's dream had been different. She was partially clothed this time, dozing softly. Crane ran his hand over the soft curve of her belly, knowing that soon she would grow round and swollen. That was what the books said. Soon, he would be able to feel the baby kicking.

Abbie tangled her fingers in his hair. 'Crane, I love you so much,' she whispered.

Crane woke up sobbing.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

Luke liked to think of himself as a stand-up guy. That was what he had always dreamed of being – stoic, strong, a man who took care of business. His father was that type of man – all the Morales men were.

He had failed on that count; he had let Abbie down twice. When she announced that she was applying to Quantico, he had freaked out. He was ashamed when he thought of his reaction. One minute he was planning a future with Abbie, the next she was moving onwards and upwards.

Just when things were beginning to look good between them again, he dropped the ball once more. Seeing Andy Brooks – apparently alive again – had shaken him to his core. Instead of manning up and protecting Abbie, he had backed off, leaving her alone and vulnerable. Never again would he let that happen.

It had been a rough few weeks all around. He had been dealing with a full caseload at work, while his evenings were consumed with Abbie's world – chasing demons and hunting down arcane knowledge. It had been a baptism of fire, and he was exhausted, physically and psychologically.

Everyone seemed depressed and demoralised in the wake of Finbarr's death and their failure to defeat the Horseman. In the weeks since her husband's funeral, Maeve Burke seemed to revert back into a sulky, antisocial post-adolescent. She clomped around the archives wearing Doc Martens and a bad attitude, snorting and scoffing at any attempt to distract her from her misery.

Luke decided at that moment that he needed to be a big brother to her. Abbie told him that she had a pretty horrendous background, so she needed compassion and understanding, not judgement. He knew that he had a duty to help her, but God help him, she made it difficult at times.

When Maeve's precious motor home was finally towed after too many overlooked parking tickets, she reacted by throwing a massive fit in the front lobby of the police station. He tried to calm her down, but she responded by calling him a gorilla and announcing that she "wouldn't take advice from someone who bleached his teeth," which just left him bewildered.

Irving told him later that she had spent all her funds on the funeral, and without the motor home, she was essentially homeless. In his self-appointed role as big brother, Luke paid the fine and drove the vehicle to a vacant lot where he knew it wouldn't be stolen. When he tried to explain, she replied with a swift "Fuck off, pig," like he'd just maced her at a protest.

It was Henry Parrish who finally got through to her. Somehow, the two of them became as thick as thieves. They huddled together hatching schemes in the corner of the archives – which had become a kind of situation room for the war against Moloch. One night, they gathered the group together, promising big news.

'We have a plan,' Maeve announced. 'Well, not so much a plan yet, more of an idea. I know my last one didn't turn out so well, but this one should work. We hope.'

'What is it this time?' Jenny asked sceptically.

'What is sin?' Henry questioned rhetorically. 'Sin is the quintessence of weakness, of hatred and deceit. Moloch embodies all of these evils. If I can remove a man's sin and leave him sanctified, then why not Moloch?'

There was a moment of silence in the group; it seemed as if there was a tacit lack of trust amongst them. After the fiasco in the Masonic tomb, they were clearly less than eager to follow another one of Maeve's hare-brained schemes.

'You think it would work?' Abbie asked cautiously.

'The problem would be making a connection with Moloch – Henry would have to do it through me. I've done it before – when you entered Crane's dream, and with Finbarr in the tomb. I've never done it with two at the same time. I'd need something to magnify my power.'

Luke was busy watching Crane, who had his eyes fixed on Abbie. There was an intense look in his eyes – something like anger, or determination, or what? Desire?

_Keep your eyes to yourself, Brit. _

He caught himself; those thoughts weren't worthy of him. He was loath to think too deeply about the bond between Abbie and Ichabod Crane. She had explained to him all about the spell that had left him frozen in time and their role Biblically-ordained Witnesses. When he finally got his head around it, he realised it was another thing he had to deal with. It was like accepting that Santa Claus wasn't real.

The sound of his uncle Tony's rough voice entered his head with predicable clarity. _Man up, Lukey-boy. Your father isn't here to protect you anymore._

'…so we need to find the right sigil, and the incantation that goes with it,' Maeve summed up. 'Any questions?'

'I kinda zoned out there for a sec,' Luke said. 'What do we need to find?'

'Not just a pretty face, eh?' Maeve sighed with distain. She spoke in slow, patronising tones. 'A sigil is a magical symbol – like a rune – used by the druids to contact the _sí_ – the ancient gods of the Tuatha Dé Danann. I can use it to help Henry to drain Moloch's power. Clear enough?'

'Can I ask?' Luke held up a hand. He had a sudden flashback to being back in school again – another unhappy memory. 'If we do manage to find this sigil, how is Henry going to absorb all the evil or whatever from Moloch? Won't it be dangerous?'

All eyes turned to Henry. 'I am aware that this plan involves great danger to myself. If this rids the world of Moloch, then it's a risk I'm willing to take.'

'I'll be connected to Henry the whole time. It should offer Henry some measure of protection.'

Jenny raised an eyebrow. 'And what about you? Are you strong enough for this?'

If Maeve doubted herself, she wouldn't allow herself to show it. 'I can do this – I want to.'

'When are you planning to try this?' Abbie asked.

'We're two weeks from Hallowe'en. On Samhain, the veil between worlds will be weakest, allowing me to channel the power of the _sí_. It also means that Moloch's little helpers will be free to come and go at will. That's where you come in.'

Irving was leaning against the doorframe. 'Let me guess, you're gonna need us as muscle. After what happened last time, I think people need to decide whether they want to risk their lives.'

'You want to take a vote, Frank?' Jenny sounded pissed off. 'I've spent my life fighting Moloch. I'm not sitting this one out – not when we could be close to ending this. Anybody disagree?'

Luke was sorely tempted to speak up. It sounded too risky, and there were too many variables. Maeve was something of a wild card, and he wasn't sure Henry was to be trusted either, but he wasn't going to look like a coward in front of Abbie.

'Great.' Maeve rubbed her hands together. 'This room is full of all kinds of mystical crap. It might be a good place to look for sigils. Let's get started.'

They worked in shifts, poring over old books and manuscripts full of ancient symbols. The next day, Luke and Abbie sat in one corner of the archives, while Crane and Maeve sifted through papers on the other side of the room. After a while, the pressure and cabin fever began to tell on all of them and tempers flared.

At one point, Crane snapped at Maeve, clearly having had enough of her foul attitude. She hopped up and ran from the room. Luke gave Crane a look that said _Nice work, buddy_, and followed her outside.

After searching many dusty alcoves, he eventually found Maeve sitting at the top of the fire escape. She was crying softly to herself and staring vacantly at her cheap, gold wedding band. When she saw Luke, she quickly dried her eyes. He paused, knowing instinctively that the last thing Maeve needed was to be left alone.

'You know my father was a cop too?' He had no idea why he said this, other than a need to fill the silence.

Maeve looked at him, somewhere between confused, lost and angry.

'He was the strong, silent-type, you know?' he continued, barely knowing where this stream of consciousness was coming from. 'Never complained about work, never wanted anyone to worry. But no matter what, he always found time for me, just to throw the skin around and talk about nothing.'

He knew he was rambling now, but Maeve was no longer crying; that was a good sign.

'So when he started getting pains in his knee, he didn't pay it any mind. Said he was fine – even though my Mom begged him to see a doctor. By the time they found out it was cancer, it had already spread to his brain.'

Maeve looked shocked, finally shaken out of her funk.

'My Mom didn't want to talk about it – she had four kids to raise. I didn't want to upset her so I pretended I was fine. I didn't talk about Dad, and never cried in front of her. So I folded it away, deep down inside, and pretended to be strong. All the time I still wanted my Dad – I still do.' He looked intently at her. 'We never really get over people dying, do we? We just find a way to move on.'

Maeve spoke – her voice tremulous but determined. 'I know I can be kind of a bitch sometimes, but you've been really decent to me, Luke. I'm grateful.'

There was a slight pause. 'Sometimes?'

To Luke's relief, Maeve laughed. It was first quiet, then long and loud. It was as if she was throwing off some great burden, and for the first time in ages, she looked young again.

_God, she's crazy pretty when she smiles._ The thought crept unbidden into his head. _If only she weren't so young. And widowed. And I'm with Abbie!_

In that moment, he knew that he could no longer ignore that look in Abbie's eyes whenever she looked at Crane; it was something akin to desperation. It was love. He knew that she would never feel that way for him.

It was suddenly clear to him; he didn't love Abbie, not in that way. He loved her as a friend and a colleague and wanted to protect her more than anything. The Apocalypse was coming; life was too short to spend with the wrong person.

He felt strange inside – sort of light and topsy-turvy. It was the oddest sensation – one of change, almost a rebirth. He knew that he had altered fundamentally from the man he had been just minutes before.

'Feeling any better?' he asked Maeve.

'A little,' she replied, wiping her face with her sleeves.

'I would give you a handkerchief, but I'm fresh out.'

She gave him a look of disbelief. 'You carry around a handkerchief? Does it have little flowers on it?'

Luke laughed; he felt somehow that things were going to be all right. He had no idea what to do about Abbie, but at that moment, he felt so light-hearted that he wasn't going to let it bother him.

As soon as Maeve entered the archives, Crane arose, an apologetic look on his face. Instead of one of his usual verbose effusions, he dropped into a deep bow. Maeve blushed slightly and nodded.

'Did you find anything while we were away?'

'I believe so,' Crane replied. He held up a leather-bound book.

'This is a copy of the seventh-century "Life of St. Brendan the Navigator" – long believed to be lost. It contains accounts of druidic practices in the pre-Christian era.'

Maeve and Luke crowded around the table where Crane and Abbie were seated. The book was opened at a page which was covered with illustrations of arcane symbols. Maeve stabbed her finger at one of them – a triangle with a right-handed triple spiral inside of it. The triangle was marked with grooves and dots in different configurations.

'This is the one,' she announced.

'How do you know?' Abbie asked.

'Only one way to be sure – we're calling Moloch out.' Maeve looked from Abbie to Crane and back again. 'I say we call him to account for every life he's destroyed – for Finbarr, for Katrina, for your Sheriff, Abbie. On Hallowe'en night, we're finishing this thing. One way or the other.'


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

The cabin was a scene of devastation as Crane opened his eyes. He stumbled out of his room and saw the aftermath of last night's drunken debauchery. It was the day before Hallowe'en. They had been preparing for the confrontation with Moloch for nearly two weeks now. The growing tension and fear had reached such a crescendo that the only solution was to get roaring drunk.

His head pounded as he regarded the living room; Irving was sprawled on the couch and Luke lay on the rug in front of the hearth. Abbie and Maeve stood chatting in the kitchen area.

'Good morning.' Maeve seemed infuriatingly chipper.

'What is this infernal sensation in my head?' he growled, all propriety forgotten.

Maeve helped herself to a cup of coffee from the stove. 'It's called a hangover, _Sasanach_ – the unwanted pregnancy of drinking. Thankfully it only lasts one day.'

'I am familiar with the concept. I've just never experienced so acute an attack before. What was that noxious liquor we were imbibing?'

Abbie smiled and handed him a cup of coffee. 'Tequila, I think. The rest of the night was a bit blurry.'

Crane smiled gratefully. Her fingers brushed against his, sending a jolt of electricity through him.

'Ahem,' Maeve muttered in warning. 'Morning, Luke.'

Luke entered the kitchen, dishevelled but otherwise none the worse for wear. The room fell under a cloud of awkwardness.

Crane instinctively took a step back from Abbie as Luke tenderly kissed her cheek. Crane felt a sudden urge to be sick that had nothing to do with his hangover.

'Well,' Luke began. 'Anybody got any big plans for today? I was thinking of blowing off work, maybe checking out a movie. What do you think, Crane – will we grab a few beers?'

Crane was unable to keep his smile in check. As much as he wanted to dislike Luke Morales, there was something undeniably endearing about him.

_Accursed man._

The back door swung open and Jenny entered, sweating from her morning run. Her expression was grim. 'Great, you guys are finally awake.' She strode over to the couch and shook Irving. 'Hey!'

He awoke with a start.

'I need everyone dressed and ready to go in thirty minutes. We have work to do. Frank, I need your help in the tunnels.'

Henry Parrish and Maeve had decided to perform the ritual in the underground tunnels, where they could rely on what remained of the witches' old magic to protect them.

'We need to walk every inch of ground, make sure the barricades are secure. We can't risk even one of Moloch's ghoulies getting anywhere near Henry and Maeve while they're getting their magic on. Morales, you need to check the comms, make sure the walkie-talkies are in working order. We can't afford to lose contact for one minute down there.'

'Sure, I'm on it.'

'Talking of which,' Abbie interjected. 'I think we're going to need a lot more firepower. Something tells me our sidearms won't be enough to match the forces of hell.'

'I might be of some assistance with that,' Maeve said with an enigmatic smile.

* * *

The group followed Maeve to the vacant lot where Luke had parked her motor home.

'Still in one piece, I see,' she said pointedly as she unlocked the door.

The place was a total disaster – dirty laundry and discarded takeout boxes everywhere. Maeve reached for a handle on the wall and pulled. A panel moved aside, revealing an array of antique weapons. Finbarr's medieval crossbow took pride of place in the centre, surrounded by dozens of unsavoury blades with brutal edges.

'That's quite a collection,' Crane remarked, the antiquarian in him impressed. 'Your husband was quite the romantic.'

'He was,' Maeve replied. 'But I think this is going to require something a little more hi-tech. Watch your feet.' She pressed a button and a section of the floor slid away. Everyone stared into a crawl space underneath the base of the motor home. Guns of every sort were displayed, from automatic rifles to handguns of varying sizes.

Jenny let out a breath of wonder. 'Beautiful,' she remarked.

Luke seemed like he was going to have a fit. 'You had this all along! Do you know how many laws you're breaking, just having those there? I assume you don't have permits.'

Irving looked as if he was having the same thoughts, except he kept them to himself. 'You and I are going to have a serious conversation when this is over, kiddo.'

'Noted,' Maeve replied. She turned to Abbie. 'Your boyfriend's cute when he's apoplectic.'

Luke wouldn't look at her.

'I suggest you guys save your moral scruples 'til this is over,' Jenny said, lovingly examining a rifle. 'Crane, you being the man with military expertise, I need you to make sure these weapons are fully loaded and ready to be used for tomorrow night.'

'Aye-aye, Captain.'

'Can I talk to you for a sec?' Abbie led her sister into the cool air outside. 'Look, whatever happens tomorrow night, I need to know that you're not planning any heroics, okay?'

There was a remote expression on Jenny's face, a steely look of determination. 'I'm cool, Abbie. I just wanna get this done.'

'Remember what we talked about. You need to make sure that Crane is kept out of harm's way – I mean it.'

Jenny nodded. 'I know, sis. You too – I don't want to have to worry about you as well as everything else.'

They had discussed this thoroughly; it was imperative that both Abbie and Crane were shielded at all times. The blood-tie meant that both of them would be in danger. It meant keeping the truth from Crane, but Abbie knew that his safety was more important.

'Hey.' Abbie reached for Jenny and pulled her into a tight hug.

Jenny felt a kind of desperation in her sister's embrace; it felt as if she were saying goodbye. 'Oxygen, Abbie.' She pulled away. 'We'll have time for this tomorrow, right?'

Abbie discreetly wiped a tear away.

* * *

Inside the motor home, Maeve pulled Crane to one side. 'So, are you going to tell her or what?' she demanded.

'Tell her what?' Crane replied, sensing her meaning but feigning ignorance.

She side-eyed Luke, who was helping Captain Irving ferry guns out of the motor home. 'That you love her, you eejit.'

Crane sighed impatiently. 'Miss Burke, I hardly think this is the time or the place – '

'This is the only time!' she interrupted. 'We're facing down Moloch tomorrow, and you're too afraid to admit your feelings!'

'Afraid?' He was indignant.

'Yes, afraid! You're afraid that she doesn't feel the same way, or that she does, and something will happen to her. And then you're afraid that she does feel the same way, and you'll end up happy forever. For some reason, that seems to scare you most of all.'

Crane regarded Maeve with curiosity. Once again, she had the power of discerning his innermost feelings. 'Not unreasonable fears, I think.'

'I don't care! Because you and I know something that the rest of them haven't cottoned onto yet. We don't get the rest of our lives to be happy. We both had our happy-ever-afters sorted, but life took that away from us in an instant. All we have is right now – don't waste it.'

With that, she left him alone.

* * *

Late that night, Abbie, Crane and Luke sat in the archives, performing the final preparations for the next day. They barely spoke as they worked – Crane oiling and loading guns, Morales checking the radios and Abbie poring over maps of the tunnels.

Tomorrow they would face Moloch, the great evil that had plagued their lives for so long. Knowing what was at stake and what he could potentially lose, Crane felt fear like an icy pool inside his stomach. He had finally decided to confess his feelings to Abbie, but every minute that passed weakened his resolve.

He was reminded of Katrina's confession of love to him; he had come between two people betrothed to one another. Despite his feelings for Katrina, it was a dishonourable act that had caused incalculable damage. Now he was contemplating paying his addresses to Abbie, who was already spoken for, and who had shown him nothing but kindness.

Should the worst happen tomorrow, he couldn't countenance the idea of going into the earth again with Abbie thinking badly of him. His heart hurt at the realisation that his love would never be spoken.

His task complete, he stood up and began packing the guns into a large haversack. 'I must take these to Miss Jenny,' he said redundantly. 'I bid you goodnight.'

'Night, Crane,' Abbie replied.

Their eyes met, and for an instant Crane felt as if the world and all their fears did not exist. He wanted nothing more than to stay in that moment forever. He longed to tell her that he loved her, to make faithful promises about the future.

Unable to withstand the pain any longer, he walked away.

Luke reluctantly turned to Abbie, ready to make his own confession. 'Hey, Abs. Can we talk?'

She looked up from the maps, spread out in front of her. 'Sure, babe. What's up?'

'This probably isn't the time or the place, but I need to tell you something.' He paused, staring at his hands. 'The last thing I would ever want to do is hurt you, Abbie. These last few weeks have been crazy, but they've helped me realise some stuff.'

'Spit it out, Luke. You're making me nervous.'

He looked at her – the vulnerability in his eyes almost painful. 'I can't do this, Abbie. I can't be with you anymore – I'm so sorry.'

All the expected questions ran through Abbie's mind – _Is it me? Is there someone else? Is there something I could have done? _Almost immediately, she realised how foolish she was being, and an enormous sense of relief wafted over her.

'Okay,' she said.

'Okay?' Luke was taken aback.

'Yeah, Luke – I really can't think of anything else to say. I could put up a huge fight, but I don't think either of us had our hearts in this.'

Luke smiled. 'You're right. I just need to know that you'll be okay.'

Abbie went to him and hugged him tightly. 'We're friends, Luke. I don't want to lose that – not for anything.'

'Me neither.'

* * *

Luke found himself walking the streets of Sleepy Hollow, a deep feeling of peace inside him. Whatever happened the next day, he knew that he that done the right thing. It would have been so easy to stay with Abbie, but deep down inside, knowing that it was all a lie would have eaten away at him.

Jesus was right, he realised. The truth shall set you free.

He found himself at the door of the motor home, scarcely knowing how he had got there. His breaths were fast, clouding thickly in the chill night air. Before he knew what he was doing, he knocked.

There wasn't even a hint of surprise on Maeve's face as she opened the door. 'What took you so long?' she asked, holding the door open wide.

As he walked past her into the warm interior, he wondered the same thing. It felt as if he had been making the slow journey to her door all his life.

He stood there, not knowing what to do, until she walked assuredly into his arms. He breathed her in, trembling at having her so close.

'I need you,' he found himself whispering.

'I need you too,' she sighed.

* * *

The street was dimly illuminated by lamplight as Abbie fumbled for her keys. She unlocked the car door with one hand as she called up Crane's number with the other. She heard the stilted tones of Crane's voicemail recording, and sighed with frustration.

She had something to tell Crane – something big. She was so distracted that even her finely-honed instincts did not detect a slight movement, the barest hint of shadow behind her.

'Hey, Crane, it's Abbie. There's something I need to tell you – it's kind of urgent. Can you call me – '

Crane would never what she was going to say, as a gloved hand clamped a rag over Abbie's mouth. Mere seconds were enough for the chloroform to do its work. She slumped unconscious to the ground, unaware that her assailant was once her colleague, her best friend.

Andy Brooks looked down at her and smiled.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen

Blood was everywhere, splashed over the walls, soaking into the dirt in ugly clumps. Luke's slacks were encrusted with the stuff up to his knees. He sat with his back to the stone wall of the tunnel, his hands shaking with shock and adrenaline.

_So much blood._

The battle began as soon as the sun went down over Sleepy Hollow. They had spent the day reinforcing barricades, stockpiling arms and food, doing everything they could think of to prepare for the coming onslaught.

It was not enough.

The first wave of demons attacked the outer defences a little after six o'clock, but they were taken down with ease by Jenny and Captain Irving. Their early victory bolstered their confidence; they cheerfully radioed the news back to Luke, who was guarding the inner chamber.

The room was once used for assemblies of the white witch coven. It seemed fitting somehow, given what Maeve and Henry were trying to accomplish. The sigil was smeared onto the north wall in a paste made from hazel-ash, and the room was illuminated by hexed candles provided by Crane's Mason brothers. They needed every charm, every vestige of magical power they could muster if they were going to drain Moloch of his power. Everything depended on it.

As the ritual began, Maeve's eyes turned milky-while once again as her gaze turned beyond the earthly realm. Henry was dripping with sweat, his arms held rigidly by his side as the connection was created between them. Maeve repeated her mysterious chant over and over, trying to locate Moloch. Hours went by as she endeavoured to divert her power through the sigil into Henry as he tried to consume his evil.

The effort was enormous. Luke saw the strain and exhaustion in their bodies and wondered once more about the wisdom of this whole operation.

Jenny's voice crackled through the walkie-talkie, startling him. 'Luke… to the tunnels. They've breached… first barricade. We can't hold them. Hurry!'

Luke checked his weapons. He had his service weapon carefully holstered; there was a Desert Eagle semi-automatic tucked behind the back of his belt and Maeve's beloved Yemeni _janbiya_ knife concealed in his sock.

'I have to go,' he said, even though he knew they couldn't hear. 'I'll be back soon.'

He looked back at Maeve, but she was deep in her trance and unaware of his presence. He had awoken so happy that morning, drunk with love after their night together. Now for the first time, Luke started to believe that he might not live to see the morning.

His every breath sounded like thunder in his ears as he crept through the tunnels. Echoes of distant gunfire and ghostly shouts rolled along the walls towards him. He felt desperately torn; he wanted to help Jenny and Captain Irving at the barricades, but could not stray far from the chamber. Maeve had to be protected. And Henry Parrish too, of course.

He was prepared to face one of the ghoulish imps that he had dispatched once or twice before. Though their appearance was fearsome, he had discovered that they were just as vulnerable to bullets as humans. Unlike humans though, they disintegrated into a spray of dust when shot.

He was not prepared for what came at him. There were people – human beings – staggering towards him with frightening determination. There were six of them, both men and women – their faces ashen, their limbs loose and weak as if the tendons and muscles were disintegrating. Luke's mind reeled with terror as the evil stench of putrefaction filled the tunnel. They were dead. Like Andy Brooks, they were reanimated bodies, puppets of Moloch.

He didn't want to kill them, but they were already dead, weren't they? He had to do it – he had to stop them from getting into the chamber.

_Where is Abbie when you need her? _The thought was chased by another. _And where the hell is Ichabod Crane? _

* * *

There was a bitter taste in Crane's mouth that he associated with the shock of battle. The day had been a terror-fuelled nightmare the likes of which he couldn't remember. He tried to calm his instinctive panic when he received Abbie's abortive voicemail. When he finally found her car, unlocked and abandoned outside the Armoury building, his fear fully gestated and he proceed to – as the Lieutenant put it – "freak out". Searching the station and her house was similarly fruitless.

He considered calling Jenny, but the weight of the coming mission hung heavy on his mind. He could ill afford to jeopardise what the group was trying to achieve.

_But Abbie…_

Sitting down on her front step, Crane was struck with a stark realisation. He would sacrifice victory over Moloch – hell, he would sacrifice the whole world – if it meant that Abbie could be safe. It was a sobering thought.

His phone rang and he almost fainted with relief when he saw Abbie's name on the screen.

'Hello? Abbie?' His heart hammered in his chest. _Please be safe, please be safe._

'Crane? You need to listen to me.' Her voice sounded constricted and fearful. 'I'm all right – Andy Brooks has me. You have to do what he says or he'll kill me.'

Crane swallowed. 'Tell him I'll do anything he wants.'

She handed the phone to Brooks.

His boots were bespattered with mud as he trudged up the hillside, five miles outside of the town. It was cold and the light was failing, but fear alone kept him moving forward. Crane had followed the instructions to the letter – all the while feeling like a traitor to himself and his friends. He was keeping them in the dark, leaving them to face unspeakable dangers alone. His heart clenched at the thought of their faces when they found out what he had done.

As he reached the crest of the hill, a copse of trees and dense undergrowth greeted his eyes.

Standing out in the open was the traitorous Andy Brooks, looking gaunt and hollow-eyed. There was a gun in his right hand.

'That's far enough,' he instructed.

Crane stopped dead in his tracks. 'Where's Abbie? I want to see her.'

'All in good time. Show me your hands.' He patted Crane down, slipping the phone from his pocket. 'Why don't I hold onto this for now?'

He nudged Crane in the back with the muzzle of the handgun. Crane tentatively walked forward into the darkness of the woods. As his eyes grew accustomed to the light, he spotted Abbie sitting against the truck of a tree, her hands and feet bound. He did not dare to move as Brooks untied her.

Crane's heart soared as she ran into his arms. He held her tightly for a moment, feeling the strength of her limbs wrapped around him. He pulled away and looked into her eyes.

'Are you hurt?'

She shook her head.

He turned to Brooks once more. 'Will you release her?'

There was a look of unimaginable pain on Andy Brooks' pallid face. 'Yes, she can go once we're safe with Moloch.'

'What are you talking about?' Abbie looked from Crane to Brooks and back again. 'Crane, what's going on?'

Crane was unable to look at her. 'Moloch wants your soul, Abbie – he's wanted it from the start. I will not allow him to take you, not when I can prevent it.'

She glared at Brooks with utter disbelief and horror, demanding an explanation.

'Moloch wants the Witnesses to be separated – it will seal his victory and presage the End of Days. I just wanted to protect you, Abbie. I can't stop the Apocalypse, but I can keep you from being Moloch's plaything. I owe you that.'

'Could you give us a moment, please?' Crane pleaded with him. Brooks nodded and walked out of earshot.

'You can't do this,' Abbie said with desperation. 'This is crazy.'

'I must,' Crane countered. 'I will not allow you to fall into Moloch's hands. In recompense for all you have done for me – for saving my life. This is my sacrifice.'

She stared him hard in the face, challenging him. 'You think I'm going to let you walk into Purgatory? There's no way – not while I have breath in my body. I won't let you…'

She pounded on his chest in anguish, tears streaming down her cheeks. 'You can't leave me, Crane. Not if you knew… not if you knew how much I love you.'

His expression was something to behold – Abbie would have laughed if her heart wasn't breaking. She didn't care that he knew – she didn't care about anything anymore.

'You love me?' he repeated the words tonelessly, as if struggling to understand their meaning. 'You love me.'

'Yes. I should probably make some big romantic declaration, but I'm no good at that stuff. Do you…' Her mouth went dry. 'Do you love me?'

Crane's eyes shone with emotion. 'Abbie, I adore you.'

She threw herself at him, gripping him tightly as if willpower alone could keep him there. 'Kiss me, Crane,' she whispered.

He looked away, a look of desperate sadness contorting his features. 'I cannot.'

'What do you mean?'

'If I were to kiss you, I would never be able to leave you.'

Abbie was aghast. 'You're not still going through with this?'

'We both knew this might happen – that we might be called upon to sacrifice ourselves.' Crane took Abbie's small hands in his. 'It is a most profound honour to do this for you. I am not a saint, Abbie. I had hoped to forestall this day, but it seems that time, the old enemy, has finally caught up with me. I must face it as bravely as I can.'

She felt sick, sad and hollow, knowing that everything she had fought for had been in vain. Moloch had won.

Tears glittered in his eyes, and Abbie could see how terrified he was. 'Tell me I'm doing the right thing,' he whispered, clutching her hands. He seemed somehow small, like a little boy. How easy it would be to use his fear, to persuade him to stay with her, but she didn't have the heart to. He needed her to be strong for him, even though she was falling apart inside.

'I don't know,' she whispered, placing a kiss on his temple. 'But I know this – meeting you was the best thing that ever happened to me, and I'm so proud that I got the chance to know you. To love you.'

She could see his resolve fraying; he longed to lean in closer and kiss her. Instead, he lifted her hand pressed it against his lips. 'It has been a privilege, Lieutenant.'

He walked a few steps towards where Andy Brooks was waiting, before turning back to look at her once more. Her face was tear-stained and wracked with pain.

_You fool. This is your only chance._

He strode back to where she stood and pulled her to him. He kissed her with urgency and tenderness, trying to convey everything he felt for her – the life he wished to share with her but never would. It was heaven. Abbie threaded her fingers through his hair, sighing with sheer contentment. He desperately wanted to give himself completely to the embrace, but he could not.

Abbie's heart felt like a burst balloon, fluttering weakly in her chest. The tentative hopes she had harboured since realising her true feelings for Crane – a future, a home, maybe even children – things she never imagined wanting, all gone. All she had was this kiss.

And then she was pulling away from her, walking swiftly into the night. Gone from her forever.

* * *

Luke stumbled back towards the chamber, clutching Maeve's blood-stained knife. He had used every bullet he had to fight off Moloch's lackeys in the tunnel. In the end, he was forced to hack and slash a woman to pieces. The image was imprinted indelibly on his brain.

He grabbed his walkie-talkie. 'Jenny, come in – are you there? Captain?' There was only static. An enormous sense of hopelessness set in.

He entered the chamber and the scene in front of him was one of abject horror and confusion. Henry seemed to be choking, as if the evil pouring from Moloch was too to bear. Maeve lay on the floor, convulsing. Standing over her was an enormous white demon, his long white tail stretched out behind him. His long tongue unfurled lasciviously as long claws reached out for Maeve.

'No!' Luke ran at him, the bloody _janbiya _held high. Moloch turned with a terrifying expression – one that froze Luke's blood. Moloch slashed at him, his talons raking the left side of his body.

'Luke?' Maeve awoke from her stupor. She saw Luke on the ground, blood pumping from the wound in his neck.

Luke tried vainly to stop the bleeding. 'Maeve, the connection… finish the ritual.'

She turned to see Henry still battling Moloch's will, struggling to draw the evil from him. Instead of going to him, she crouched beside Luke and placed both hands on his neck, sobbing quietly.

'You won't die,' she whispered. 'Not you too. Don't leave me.'

Suddenly, there was a thunderous roar that seemed to shake the chamber to its foundations. It was a cry of anguish that came from the very bowels of Moloch. There was an enormous gasp, as Henry consumed the last of the demon's power in a great rush, killing them both instantly.

Maeve threw herself over Luke's body as the world was flung into darkness.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen

Crane opened his eyes and found himself in a wasteland, devoid of feature or dimension. In every direction he looked, the landscape was like a blank slate, drifting off into infinity. What struck him the most powerfully was the lack of sound. There were no birds trilling in the bushes, no distant roar of traffic, no breezes.

It did not look like the place he had visited in his dreams; that at least resembled some vestige of the mortal world. This was a void.

A terrible thought entered his mind – perhaps this was his own personal Purgatory, designed to torment him in the cruelest fashion. Moloch had taken everything he had valued in his life – his wife and son, the friends he had cherished so dearly, and Abbie. Now he was plunged into complete and eternal solitude.

Then he heard something – a voice, faint, but undoubtedly human.

'Who's there?' he cried. He walked a few steps before stopping, the futility of the exercise hitting home.

'Ichabod, my love.'

His heart leapt at the sweet sound of that familiar voice. He turned and saw Katrina, his first love, the one with whom he had dreamed of sharing a life, of growing old. She looked as young and beautiful as when he first knew her, unburdened by troubles or cares.

'I've found you.'

'Katrina,' he breathed. There was so much he longed to tell her – about his sorrow at losing her, the fears that had haunted the previous months about the approaching battle with Moloch. Most of all he wanted to know if she had suspected his feelings for Abbie. He was so burdened with guilt that all that poured from his lips were apologies. 'I'm so sorry you had to die, my darling. I should have cared for you better – I humbly beg your forgiveness.'

His wife's smile was angelic. 'There is nothing to forgive, Ichabod. It was my choice – my sacrifice to make.'

Crane's expression darkened with horror as he looked around him. 'Why are you here, Katrina? Tell me you're not trapped here again!'

'No, my love,' she replied. 'I am free. Moloch no longer has dominion over this place – its borders are open. Look.'

She pointed off into the distance.

At first, Crane saw nothing more than the same landscape, leached of all colour and vitality. Then, slowly, figures began to appear. Countless lost souls who had been tormented by Moloch came from every direction. Their destination gradually became clear. An enormous bright light was torn through the sky and they were headed right for it.

'See?' There were tears of joy in Katrina's eyes. 'Your friends have succeeded, Ichabod. Moloch has been consigned to the outer darkness.'

Crane stared at her, realisation dawning on him. 'Then… we have prevailed?'

She nodded. 'We have.'

They had won. Crane closed his eyes, tears spilling down his face. Everything he had suffered in his life – separation and loss, fear and anguish, grief and unfulfilled love, then finally, the ultimate sacrifice – it had all been worth it. Humanity would live on, free from Moloch's evil. And now most of all, he would be at peace in the knowledge that he had spared Abbie.

'Then I am ready, Katrina. I will go with you.'

She did the most unexpected thing – she frowned slightly and shook her head. 'No, my love. It is not your time to rest. You must go back into the world and live. That is your task now – your time as Witness is over.'

Crane was speechless with confusion. He did not understand – he had done everything required of him. He had given up his life, his love; he had prepared himself to face the consequences of his choice. Now Katrina was offering him a tantalising prize, but it was too tempting. It couldn't be real – it had to be a trick.

'I gave my soul over to Moloch, Katrina. I sacrificed myself to save Abbie. Now, you tell me that I can go back?'

Katrina smiled heartbreakingly. 'Your soul was not Moloch's to claim, Ichabod. It belongs to Abigail Mills.'

Crane's eyes widened with disbelief.

She continued, 'When you were ill, the night before I left the human realm, I performed a spell to save your life. I merged your bloodlines, binding your soul with hers.'

'No!' Crane exclaimed. 'I did not want this. I was ready to die.'

'Forgive me, Ichabod. I had to save your life. I knew that your bond as Witnesses was unbreakable – I did not know then that your love for each other would bind the spell so effectively.'

Katrina reached out and took Crane's hand in hers. 'This is right, my love. You deserve to live your life in peace, to have children and see them grow. These are the things I wished to give you but was not able.'

'Katrina,' Crane whispered. His heart was heavy with a combination of sadness and newfound hope.

'Do not weep for me. I am at peace.' She stroked his face with infinite tenderness. 'You love Abbie Mills, as she loves you. Few of us are happy enough to find true love twice in our lifetimes. But then,' she chuckled softly. 'You were never fated to live an ordinary life.'

'I do not wish to say goodbye, Katrina.'

'You are my best friend, Ichabod,' she replied with heartrending simplicity. 'There are no goodbyes to be said. We shall meet again ultimately, but now you must go back and live the life you were meant to live.'

She leaned forward and kissed his cheek in farewell. 'Close your eyes.'

'Thank you, Katrina,' he whispered. It was all he could think to say.

The first thing he saw when he awoke was a forest canopy. He sat up and looked around him, realising exactly where he was. He was in the woods where he and Andy Brooks had passed over into Purgatory.

It was early morning, and a cool breeze ruffled his hair. Standing up, he felt the strength of his limbs. His heart pounded in his chest – proof that he was alive, that he would live on, as Katrina had promised. He was suddenly aware of all the slumbering animals and birds in the trees around him. Nature was entering its winter hibernation, continuing its annual cycle as it had for millennia, and would continue for many more.

He laughed out loud.

A rush of excitement energised him. He needed to know that his friends were safe after last night's ritual. He could not wait to see them all again, to congratulate them on their victory, to celebrate with them.

Abbie's face flashed into his mind. He felt an overwhelming desire to hold her in his arms.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. He started with surprise – he had no memory of Andy Brooks returning it to him. A vague query about Brooks worried his mind, but he suddenly realised that he was probably with his master. He felt sorry for Brooks, for the man he had once been, but he had made his own choices.

Crane whipped out the phone and saw Captain Irving's name on the screen. He sighed with relief.

'Captain!' He had so many questions. 'How are you? Is everyone safe? What happened last night?'

'Crane?' Irving's voice conveyed exhaustion and faint disbelief. 'You're all right?'

'I am very well.' Crane's head swam with relief. 'I am excellent!'

'I have to tell you a lot of things.' Irving spoke carefully, igniting a slight panic within Crane. 'Where are you?'

Crane was heading down the slope as fast as his legs could carry him. 'I'm on a hill outside Sleepy Hollow, just beyond the cemetery. Tell me what has happened.'

'Henry Parrish is dead – Luke Morales is in critical condition in hospital. We have the Sheriff's Department and paramedics crawling all over the tunnels. I have no idea how I'm going to explain this.'

The impact of Irving's words hit Crane with the impact of the Horseman's axe. The pain was almost palpable. 'Henry is dead?' he repeated.

There was silence on the other end.

'And Luke?'

'They think he'll pull through. Maeve is being treated for shock and dehydration. Jenny's alright – other than a few bruised ribs. The worst thing is – we don't even know if it worked.'

'It worked,' Crane said flatly. 'Moloch's control over Purgatory is no more. He is no more.'

He heard Irving sigh with utter relief. 'Then it's over?'

'It's over.' He paused for a moment, his heart thudding. 'Captain, Abbie – where is she?'

As if on cue, Crane saw Abbie's SUV careening up the road towards him. Irving's voice faded into obscurity. He didn't care to wonder how she had found her way back here or why. His mind was too full of longing to see her face again. The car swerved drunkenly onto the grassy verge at the edge of the road and out stumbled Abbie.

The first things his mind registered were her eyes, wide with wonderment and terror. She approached him with caution, as if she dared not believe her sight.

'Crane?' She sounded half-crazed.

'Abbie…' They were the most delightful syllables he had ever uttered. He stared at her lovely face, torn between wanting this moment to last forever, and yearning to feel her in his arms.

'Is this real?' she whispered. 'This isn't a dream?'

'I sincerely hope not.'

She smiled at him then.

_God, she's beautiful._

She grasped his hands, still unsure of him. 'You're cold.' Then she placed a hand over his thundering heart. 'You're here. You're really here.'

'I'm here, my love.'

She threw himself into his embrace. 'Don't disappear – please don't disappear.'

'I wouldn't dream of it,' Crane managed to say, despite the emotion choking his voice.

Then she pulled his face to hers and kissed him hard. This was not like last night's kiss – full of longing and agonised regret. This was passionate and bold and needy. Crane felt the soft tug of her lips against his, her tongue questing in his mouth. He responded in kind, his hands roving over her back, feeling no resistance or shyness on Abbie's part. He felt her body meld into his, her soft curves pressing into his angular contours. She surrendered to him as eagerly as he did to her.

Crane became powerfully aware of his body in that moment. He felt a blossoming desire for her that quickly became all-consuming. He had a sudden, crazed impulse to find some quiet place and make love until their bones turned to chalk.

He was alive, and so was she. They had vanquished Moloch, and what was more, they loved each other. For the first time, the future seemed open and free and theirs for the taking.

Abbie eventually broke the kiss, panting softly into his shirt. When she looked up at him, there were tears in her eyes.

'Crane,' she began falteringly. 'Henry…'

'I know,' he replied, his heart caught between grief and bliss.

'There's so much I have to tell you – but I need to go to the hospital. That's where I was going when I saw you. I need to know that Luke's gonna be okay.'

Crane squeezed her hand. They had to talk about the cursed blood-tie and everything it entailed, but somehow it did not seem all that important. 'I know. There will be time enough to talk later.'

As Crane buckled himself into Abbie's car, he was struck by a wonderful thought. They had time enough. They had all the time in the world.

He did not release her hand until they reached the hospital.


End file.
